Goddess Bless the Queen
by sigmalied
Summary: The heights of power are dizzying. Even while in danger of falling from their summits, luxuries remain in conspicuous abundance, as discovered by Aria T'Loak and Councilor Tevos. And Liselle, daughter of the queen, now old enough to help fight for her home, is exposed to the underworld in all its cruelty. She uncovers Omega's darkest secrets—and her mother's as well.
1. Ghosts

**A/N**: (These notes were last updated 22.8.2013)  
This is essentially a continuation of its prequel, Confidentiality, however it _can_ stand on its own, as every major event from Confidentiality will be briefly recapped. Aside from being about a dysfunctional affair between Aria and Tevos amidst the problems arising in their respective homes, this is also a coming-of-age type story for Liselle with a bit of a 'who-done-it' plotline. This time around, the story's going to be a lot darker, very much unlike its 'prequel', and it's definitely going to be lengthy; 50k words of expository content and we _still_ haven't gotten into the 'main' events. Every chapter begins with a news article, acting as a mode of exposition in that they give auxiliary information about the story's current events. Also, this fic will be much more fleshed out in terms of the universe's details, supplied by headcannons. All of which will be very reasonable/realistic and not cause any conflicts with existing lore.

**Rating**: M for violence, sex (future chapters), drugs, gore/disturbing content.

**Misc. Notes:** We've got Liselle, whose eventual fate is well-known, and we've got an Aria/Tevos pairing—something that could easily be regarded as the biggest scandal of the century, if discovered. In short... this might get messy and sad; and 'happily ever after' is a long-shot. A bit of a warning, I suppose.

* * *

GODDESS BLESS THE QUEEN

* * *

[ **Chapter 1: **Ghosts ]

* * *

_Year 2081 CE_

_Athame is but a colloquial ghost only invoked when there were no others  
to hear the solemn pleas of subjects who beseech her,  
'bless and keep our vainglorious queen'.  
_

_But what blessings would a dead deity spare a queen; the mighty, the wealthy, the avaricious,  
who never before needed idols to conquer, rule, and indulge like the gods themselves?_

:::

**THE TAYSERI GAZETTE — "Lucen's Third Coming"**

A recent resurgence of the very-illegal drug Alunigen B2 [more commonly known as 'Lucen Dust'] in all five Wards of the Citadel has C-Sec officials scratching their heads over where—and by whom—the drug is being smuggled. First documented approximately eighty years ago as a crude stimulant appealing to asari users, Alunigen B2 was immediately discovered to have severely harmful side effects such as loss of biotic control and the deterioration of an asari's ability to conceive. Along with its first ban, Council-funded rehabilitation clinics opened their doors to Alunigen B2 abusers to aid them in restoring their health and productivity.

Thirty years later, a return of the drug flooded Council space, originating from labs presumably established on Omega, whose 'de facto' leadership funded and managed its illegal distribution into the Attican Traverse, and from there, into Council territory. Alunigen B2 was discovered to have new, refined properties. Users described the high as vastly improved, but when multiple non-asari deaths were linked to the substance [as non-asari races are much more susceptible to substances with high concentrations of element zero], law enforcement quickly moved in to purge the streets of the drug's prevalence. After weeks of political deliberation, and the fortunate avoidance of a skirmish between Council space and the Terminus Systems, an agreement and peace treaty were conceived between Asari High Command and Omega representative Aria T'Loak to cease all smuggling operations and hostilities.

The third coming of 'Lucen Dust' is currently nebulous in origin. As one anonymous asari informant who helped lead C-Sec to an arrest says, "It's like a 'phantom' drug. It comes and goes; shows up quietly one day, then disappears in the same way after C-Sec has figured out where it's coming from. I've lived through all three of its incarnations. Never tried it until this time. I was feeling down, lonely, and you know… the opportunity was there. I went ahead and gave it a shot, but… let's just say, even as 'good' as this incarnation may be, it's no substitute for a meld. Melds cost less, too. Made me realize that I was better off telling C-Sec and keeping myself clean. We're not even sure how dangerous the Lucen Dust is this time around. I'd rather not take a chance."

C-Sec has made this press release asking anyone with information, whether in individual dealer names or sightings of the drug in any form, to please contact them. Rewards for tipping successful arrests are posted on their extranet site.

[ATTACHMENT: C-SEC HOMEPAGE, C-SEC TIP LINE, ANONYMOUS TIP LINE EXTENSION]

"The [Alunigen B2] is impressively refined," says C-Sec detective Jonum Adonis. "We're almost certain it's coming from somewhere beyond Council space. A lab capable of mass producing a drug with such unvarying quality would not be able to last under the radar for long on our worlds. It must be coming from a region where regulations and laws are incredibly lax, or simply nonexistent. Be it the Traverse, the Terminus Systems, or even from somewhere nearby, we're quite confident that the origin will be found, followed by either a diplomatic confrontation, or a forceful one. Whichever the circumstances warrant."

* * *

:::

* * *

There was a great commotion of chatter rising up into the heights of the main Council Chamber, bouncing off the wide glass panes, and echoing back around the evening-hued interior. It was the busiest hour of the day. People were bustling about, as per usual, congregating, discussing, and conducting all actions with the sort of hurried speech and long strides found in those who still had much left to do before the day's end. And even the asari councilor was not immune to the contagious rush of bodies and sound; she headed a small flock of assistants as they cut a path across the chamber toward their destination, immersed in concise discourse for lack of time.

"So, Spectre Neora's report says the Lucen Dust is coming from Omega," said an aide, Savina, struggling to read from a datapad while matching her superior's haste, all without accidentally colliding with anyone. "But we don't have a distributor name. Altogether, we have a few ships with the cargo passing through the relay, all registry from Omega, but isn't that insufficient evidence to say that the _Lucen Dust_ is being funded and produced on Omega?"

"That's irrelevant," Councilor Tevos replied, pausing to utter a polite _excuse me_ to a hanar diplomat before resuming her swift walk. "Though it may not be sufficient evidence to make formal charges, it does justify the asking of questions. We will see what Aria T'Loak has to say, or simply what she may know about this."

"I just got a call from Irissa," said Eleni, "she says to stop turning off your earpiece and to say 'hello' to Aria for her. There was a sarcastic inflection."

"Of course," Tevos said, managing to respond with an iota of humor. She received a datapad from an assistant whom she previously requested to bring up records of all the various ships recently stopped within Citadel space for drug possession.

"Irissa says she hopes Aria's guilty, and… Oh, she has something for you. She's forwarding you Spectre Tela Vasir's report. It just came in."

The councilor passed the datapad back to the assistant, accessing her omni-tool to select the document appearing in her inbox. As their group reached the halls lining the chamber's side, a door unlocked upon their approach, rolled open, and permitted their entry. Tevos scanned the report, absorbing as much information as possible during that brief period of time. When she was finished, she spoke wryly, "She's reporting Omega's involvement as well."

"I'm not surprised," said Savina. "All the trouble T'Loak caused years ago? People don't just stop that sort of thing. She's probably back for revenge, just like we feared."

"If she is back for revenge, then I have failed," Tevos said grimly enough to subject them all to uniform silence. Her mind was peddling back to the past, to the treaty she and Aria toiled to create. Had it been all for naught, as the other councilors at the time warned her? She despaired to think that her first major act of galactic diplomacy was indeed destined for ruin. It had endured a half-century without incident, so why would Aria let it crumble now? How could it possibly favor her? Any gains the pirate queen could make from another encroachment into Citadel territory would be horrifically exiguous if not nonexistent. Rather, it would only spell her destruction, as it nearly had fifty years ago.

_Fifty years_, Tevos thought again, humbly marveling at the passage of time. Fifty years in the past not only marked their treaty's inception, but also the last time Tevos had encountered Aria in the flesh—and that day was quite the unmentionable one. It was an understatement to say that it had burned a ubiquitous place in her memory. Its presence had become a solemn reminder of just what reckless abandonment of good judgment lied within her potential, the daunting influence curiosity held over her life, and how easy it was to commit an atrocity which could quickly lead her career to a messy, tragic end. She kept the memory sealed away in the furthest reaches of her head where no one else would ever see it, left to ferment into a surrealistic dream of something replayed in her mind so many times that its realism had begun to distort. On occasion she doubted how they initiated it; had Aria actually spent time kissing her, even roughly, or was that all imagined?

She dismissed the thoughts, finding them unwise to carry with her into an extremely important conversation with the pirate queen in mind. It had been too long for it to matter anymore. Whatever happened between them had eroded away with distance and time; only a ghost remained, an intangible memory doomed to complete deterioration. It was her _responsibility_ to let it decay, to allow it to warp into an abstract vestige of something that _may_ have actually happened. When the councilor and her company reached the comm room, they awaited her directive.

"You may all go ahead and return," she said. "Except Eleni, if I may keep you for a while longer."

"Of course, ma'am. I'll wait right here."

After the other assistants had departed, Tevos entered the comm room, activated the module, and placed a call to span a tremendous amount of emptiness dappled by stars, relaying across the countless buoys and finally reaching the perilous fortress of Omega. She waited a few minutes for her call to be answered, thinking on how she hadn't spoken to Aria for a quite a while. For a few years, now, as there had been little reason to speak to her. Aria had honored the agreements of their treaty up until the present, and so Tevos had nothing to say to her—only when errors or incidents occurred did the councilor contact her, or vice versa in a few rare cases, but every verbal exchange had been thoroughly stripped of any personal investments, rendered cold and empty. In a way, that had relieved Tevos. The avoidance of speaking about their tryst brought her freedom, the knowledge that they had secretly, yet mutually, decided to obliterate the topic from discussion and importance. It was banished, redacted.

But even so, Tevos could not help but feel the glaring black bars of said redaction creep into her conscience. They were bold blemishes amid the integrity of her life's transcript, screaming for her attention, for her atonement, or perhaps… her mere acceptance, instead of condemnation.

At last her call was answered. A familiar figure's hologram came into view; a spectral, ungraspable representation, a body of light whose movements could not interact with the immediate environment, but very much present nonetheless. Aria was seated, arms lain across the back of a couch, a leg crossed over the other, bearing an expression of suspicion and mild vexation in her shimmering features.

"_Hello, Tevos. To what do I owe this pleasure?" _

The years had been kind to her cryptic sarcasm, preserving it flawlessly, even refining it. Tevos suddenly remembered why they avoided correspondence like a disease. "The Citadel has its eyes upon Omega once more," she said. "Alunigen B2 has found our streets again, and the majority of evidence accumulated over the past month points in your direction. I am calling you to descry why this is so."

She gave a small tilt of her head. _"It's not coming from me,"_ Aria answered nonchalantly, shifting her position to a more comfortable one_. "And even if it was, I'd probably deny it. And you would have made the mistake of revealing your knowledge of my supposed operation, which would inspire even _more_ discretion on my part to keep eluding you."_

"The evidence is damning, Aria," said Tevos. "No amount of improved discretion could conceal you from the allegations for long. Instead of a mistake I might have made, you'd be better off to perceive it as a friendly warning of what may come if you are formally charged."

Aria paused to deliberate in silence with herself, nodding a few times to convey her understanding of the councilor's words. _"You know, you never seem to contact me unless you suspect me of doing something wrong. As a consequence, over time it's conditioned me into automatically cringing and dreading to see your ID pop up."_

"If that is true, then it's quite reciprocated. You've only contacted me when the Citadel was doing something which made it difficult for your illicit activities to persist, or as an attempt to manipulate me into giving you something you wanted. Usually things outside my ethical customs."

The hologram's frown nearly vanished. _"Regardless of what you think I'm doing wrong now, I'll have you know that on Omega, I'm virtually omnipotent,"_ Aria said, lifting her hands from the couch's back in illustration before resting them again. _"I know what comes in and what goes out on my station. No one could export a substance like that—especially in mass quantities—without my knowledge. I can guarantee you that. So there's only two possible realities at this point: either I'm lying to you, or your intel is wrong and it's not coming from Omega. You can pick your favorite."_

"Or maybe _your_ intel is wrong," Tevos suggested. "Aria, we've stopped ships coming in from Omega. My Spectres have explicitly confirmed that in their official reports. Surely you know something about – "

"_Yeah, get me some elasa, on the rocks. No, nothing else."_

"Who are you talking to?" Tevos asked her, watching Aria speak toward her left. "I thought I specifically flagged this call as needing privacy. No one else should be hearing this, Aria."

"_Calm down, Councilor. If you want to keep talking about this I'm going to need a drink to get me through it."_

Tevos donned an aspect of faint displeasure. Those who knew the asari councilor well also knew that whatever semblance of emotion the woman let manifest should be doubled, or even tripled, to discern what she actually felt. They exchanged a mutual stare for quite a while, filled with tenuous layers of silent, adverse discourse. At one point, Aria diverted her gaze to her left, reached out, and brought her arm back with a glass in hand. She sipped it, expended some time to gently swirl the ice around, and took another drink. Tevos observed, suddenly arriving to the realization that she still did not trust Aria's words. The Council's Spectres were skilled, experienced, elite—the very best of what their races had to offer. They could not _all_ have made the same mistake, could they? The odds of that happening were extraordinarily slim, especially since they had worked independently of one another. But on the other hand… the odds of Aria fibbing were by far more reasonable.

"You know I don't trust you," the councilor said, revealing her doubts. "Not over my Spectres. You know I cannot."

"_Yes, I know. And I don't care." _Aria set her drink aside and returned her full attention to Tevos, now adopting direness into her face. When she spoke, her voice came low, dangerous, and no longer carrying any lasting, forced diplomacy. _"Listen, Councilor. I do not give a shit about your drug problem. It's not coming from Omega, and if you still think it is, you should seriously consider firing your incompetent Spectres. Either that's the case… or the drug producers and distributors are staging, or feeding those idiots false information to frame Omega." _Aria withdrew into a brief state of pensiveness. _"I think that's what's going on. Omega is the first suspect of this operation, and by shifting the blame to me, they can continue while you're distracted. You should try harder to find them, because they're obviously taking great measures to hide themselves."_

"Would it not be in your interest to help me find the source?" the councilor inquired. "You have great knowledge of Terminus factions, people, and events. Would it not benefit you to shift the Citadel's gaze from Omega to the real culprits?"

"_Why should I help you? I don't regulate trade. I don't tell people what they can and can't sell. Actually, your culprits are probably bringing money into the Terminus Systems. Above all other things, I am a businesswoman and I have every incentive to allow them to continue without intervention."_

Tevos stiffened. "Aria, we are still under treaty. You _cannot_ enable this. I remind you that Asari High Command remains ever-watchful of your movements and if they learn of your traitorous support, you will suffer their wrath."

"_Are you trying to scare me into cooperation? Tevos… this is a new era."_ A wicked smirk began to form on Aria's lips as she reached for her drink. _"I'm not afraid of High Command. There's not enough physical evidence for them to take such a huge risk, and even if they were stupid enough to try, on Omega I remain untouchable. I'm the CEO. I'm the overseeing _deity_, the master of armies, fleets, legions of agents. Businessmen and politicians from across the galaxy are in my pocket. Governments fear me, respect me. You see, Tevos…" _She brought her drink to her lips, downing what remained and setting the glass aside again. _"…Over the years, our treaty has gradually become nothing more than my polite decision to not cause you trouble."_

Tevos' lips pressed together in a thin line, affording her no other reaction. The pirate queen assumed a preeminent posture, commanding and absolutely blooming with arrogance and certainty. The fires of her pride that had once violently burned now achieved a state of interminable complacency. Aria was confident. Power accrued over time elevated her, raising her up to Omega's summit where she lounged like royalty; like, as she said, a deity. She was consumed by herself. Utterly lost to the delirium, the oxygen-deprived heights of consummate ascendancy. And that greatly troubled Tevos. Although Aria had always been egotistical and conceited, she had never reached the point where genuine dismissal of Asari High Command, coupled with Citadel opposition, had become a product of that arrogance. She was simply so _swept up_ in the idea of herself, the idea of an invulnerable empire in her hands, to see the danger portentously forming on her doorstep. Did she truly believe all that she said, that trouble would not reach her if their treaty was broken as a result of this mess? Tevos remained incredulous.

"We will continue our investigation," Tevos said at last, keeping the perturbation of her tone to a minimum. "We will find more leads, gather evidence, and cover multiple systems. We will bring resolution to this problem in due time, and if you are at the heart of this, we will eventually discover that. Times of strife may find you, Aria. You are not immortal."

Aria scoffed. _"Thanks for the reality check, Councilor, but you need it more than I do. Those Spectres of yours aren't infallible. You shouldn't rely on them too much."_

The assemblage of light vanished, leaving Tevos alone once again. She squeezed the bridge of her nose between her index finger and thumb, lingering where she stood for a long moment before turning to the door. It was becoming quite obvious that she may have to request STG for aid along with the Spectres already tasked with the investigation. When she emerged back into the hall, Eleni was awaiting her.

"What happened, Councilor?"

They began walking down the hall before Tevos answered. She paused, trying to piece together a pithy, yet still-accurate summarization. "…Aria T'Loak denied the allegations," she decided to say. "And she claims to know nothing about the origins. I'll make a report in an hour or so. What's next on today's agenda?"

Her attaché accessed a digital planner. "Well, ma'am, this might be a good opportunity to discuss your attire for the turian councilor's oath ceremony in a few days. You've been putting it off for a while and we're running out of time for that."

Tevos gave her a small smile as they reached the central chamber. The droning voices engulfed them once more. "Only because I've been incredibly busy, Eleni. Surely you won't accuse me of procrastination."

"Oh no, of course not," she said, returning the smile. She then handed Tevos a datapad. "Anyway, I've already contacted the appropriate consultants, and they've agreed on this list of designers. Both highly recommended the asari cuts of Victa Jansius' recent collection—this dress in specificity." Eleni tapped the screen, prompting an image of a black dress with a wide V-shaped collar, bordered by dark, iridescent green material that appeared again from the slopes of the waist, extending from the sides and down to sleek, parallel lines of turian aesthetic. "Very suiting for the occasion. It's my personal favorite as well. You'd look quite elegant in it."

"It's fetching," Tevos agreed. "What other dresses have they recommended?"

As they traveled to an elevator, Eleni continued to discuss the councilor's attire options in detail with her, reading comments from the consultants, highlighting the social and cultural implications associated with each dress, and giving her own opinions whenever requested.

* * *

:::

* * *

Within a haze of crimson light and wafting smoke from cigarettes, the assembly of those summoned to Aria's briefing gathered around their boss, intently listening to every spoken word with undivided attention. They were some of the pirate queen's best; high-ranking officers with unwavering loyalty and aptitude, information brokers who spent most of their waking hours within vast networks of intelligence, and hacking experts capable of stealing whatever secrets their broker allies could not buy or extort. Drinks and datapads littered the table space they sat around. Afterlife's colors and light emanating from the tall holographic column glistened in many alert eyes, their owners of varying races and varying goals, but united under the singular purpose of carrying out Aria T'Loak's will. Immense profits were always to be made.

Aria sat forward, coaxing her operatives to do the same. "There's a syndicate somewhere out there smuggling Lucen Dust around. Some of it has come to Omega. None has left it. Yet the Citadel has records that say otherwise. I want to know why. They're harassing me, demanding to know why I'm supposedly involved, and whether I know anything about this. And I_ will_ know about this, thanks to all of you. Information _is_ power and wealth; not only do I want to know something the Council doesn't, but I also have a point to prove to the asari councilor. The fact that her Spectres are incompetent morons, and that my agents are superior. And we all know this is true. We all know that when something needs to be done, Omega's finest can see to it faster and more thoroughly than anyone else in the galaxy."

A few amused, ambitious nods arose.

"I want you all to find these smugglers," Aria continued. "I want you to do whatever it takes to wrestle the information out of whoever is keeping it a secret, and I want you to tell me. I have thousands of credits awaiting you all, and every one of you will receive pay regardless of who delivers the accurate intel. That way you don't have to slit each other's throats over the reward. Just get me the intel. Now go, all of you. Get started."

The congregation obediently dispersed, armed with their skills and orders. Aria's usual guards returned to their posts in the lounge after they left. She motioned to one, beckoning him closer to hear what she had to tell him.

"Send someone to get more drinks for the patrons in the lower lounge. And ask them if they want anything to eat," she told the turian, who nodded. "Bring the dancers back in, too."

The guard left, and her demands were swiftly met. Another round of complementary drinks were delivered to the shareholders, businessmen, and politicians hailing from the Traverse, all finding merriment in the hospitality and amenities supplied by Aria T'Loak, reinforcing not only their opinion of her, but also their inclinations to remain acting in her favor. When the dancers arrived and stepped into their normal positions, Aria reclined into the sofa, assessing her living situation and basking in the sheer wealth, assets, connections, and influence she had accumulated over the past century. What did the councilor think of it? Was she growing worried, apprehensive of Omega's silhouette looming on the horizon, casting a larger shadow than ever before?

Aria abruptly realized that even after half a century, Councilor Tevos' judgement continued to matter. Its significance was always there, as Aria wanted to be seen as a legitimate threat, a fellow wielder of power, not lesser, not equal, but separate; and yet, deserving of immense recognition nonetheless.

Those moments of visceral intimacy from a former time initially left Aria with the impression that they had resolved their feud, their dynamic volley of superiority whose upper-hand seemed to shift on daily intervals—but it hadn't. That almost-clever mating ritual, atrociously weighted with ulterior motives, only birthed a new struggle for the next era. This time, it revolved around who flourished more; who, now that they were removed from each other's company and whatever they could gain from it, would grow to be the better. They parted in the councilor's office with the bitter taste of another war's dawn in their mouths. It was a silent war, waged over an incredible sea of stars, only inflicting injury through the medium of news broadcasts spotlighting their triumphs and failures and through surreptitious gloats hidden behind the political veil over their rare, sporadic conversations. It was another war of pride, slightly altered for the changing circumstances, but identical in motivation.

And now, being brought together to review the results of their battles had only revealed that Tevos still believed to have copious authority over her. Neglecting to accept Aria's obvious formidability was inexcusable. What happened fifty years ago was an incident of inexperience—though Aria would never admit that to anyone—and the resulting consequences had followed her around like a persistent shadow for much longer than she preferred. One whose eventual degeneration went outrageously unacknowledged by the asari councilor, apparently. She had blatantly _refused_ to see the light of the new day, opting to live in the past during a time when Aria could possibly be harmed by Asari High Command, or anyone at all for that matter. It made Aria's fingers rigidly curl against the sofa's cushion, dragging her fingernails over the supple material as they clenched into fists.

Tevos' threats were inconsequential, for Aria did not fear Asari High Command, nor even the Citadel. In fact, she couldn't think of anyone she feared. Omega had grown to become just as mighty as any of them—in her mind.

The station was bursting with prosperity, and its self-proclaimed leader was in a similar state. Aria had very recently celebrated her first centennial of uninterrupted rule, immersing the many districts under her control with something reminiscent of a holiday's joviality. And Afterlife, the focal point of all her territory, hadn't seen a party so massive in scale, so undeniably significant and symbolic of Omega's acceptance of a new ruling power, in hundreds and hundreds of years. Every floor had been in a profligate uproar; positively bleeding alcohol, the progenitor of intoxicated brawls, the muse of drug-induced fervor, and the catalyst for blaring dance floors whose occupants moved like the many cells within the body of that colossal nightclub—guided by the environment, the heavy reverberations in their chests from the bass, the lights, and the warm proximity of countless others. All in harmony, more or less, to celebrate the imperishability of their queen, to delight in the decadent gifts she bestowed upon them. The whole galaxy had seemed to watch and marvel, whether in person or while enviously viewing the innumerable vids virally appearing on the extranet.

How had Tevos perceived that night? Had she been watching too? Had one of her little secretaries informed her of what festivities celebrating Omega's prosperity and lawless rapture took place as they spoke? Had she tapped her fingers nervously on her desk while watching the plethora of fists raising in Aria's honor, fists very capable of taking up arms in their queen's name? For Aria had been their idol, the very center of the universe during those divine hours. There was no question of it. She was the war-and-death goddess who had conquered and returned to spill forth her acquired riches to whomever swore to her their undying allegiance. That night gave her the temporary, blissful illusion that _all_ of Omega was under her control. It was not, of course. The station was massive, athwart in dark corners for subversive factions to hide and oppose her from. She doubted if Omega had _ever_ been united under a single authority, but that fantastic dream was her prime ambition, and with the passage of every year, it seemed, that goal steadily drew closer. She systematically smoked the dissidents out of their holes and laid violent and successful sieges to areas resisting her control.

It was imminent. Her complete dominion was absolutely _imminent_, she was convinced—and there would undoubtedly be another party reserved for that day.

A chime in her earpiece lifted her mind from the wells of thought. She answered it, identifying the caller as her right-hand lieutenant, Aetius Visiom. "What is it, Aetius?"

The turian's flanging voice reached her. _"Aria, you might want to come down a few levels. To the batarian hell. There's been an incident__—_just a few minutes ago, apparently—and I think you'd want to see this."

* * *

:::

* * *

When Aria stepped out from the elevator and into the deep, eerie blue light bathing the floor of her destination, the ghoulish sea of patrons parted in her wake, many of whom appeared flustered, or even frightened for a reason Aria was presently ignorant of. As she walked, the floor's music persisted, unfazed by whatever unfortunate event had just occurred beneath its thick, heavy, nearly palpable presence; undulations of a well-conducted din, brimming with spirit and power—the haunting timbre of batarian string instruments, taut drums, the clamor of zills raining into the soundscape, all seamlessly fusing into the computer-generated, extravagantly buzzing layers.

As she approached the bar at the back of the floor, the shifting blue light gleamed in a faultless varnish over the main attraction: behind the crescent-shaped bar, a huge golden statue depicting the batarian deity Anoragot rose on high, to the very ceiling, towering over the many bodies, belittling them beneath his gargantuan dimensions. And he was unnervingly eyeless. Yawning, blackened voids were in the place of his four sockets, staring into nothingness. He was the batarian god of death, lord of their underworld. It was he who devoured the pathetic deceased in blindness, only able to sense the nature of their souls, which were indistinguishable from those of his true meal—slaves and lesser species.

Waiting at the bar was her lieutenant, standing with three other armed guards who kept people out of the immediate area. She reached him and spoke closely to his green-marked face so her voice would carry over the music. "What do we have?"

Aetius wordlessly pointed upward at the massive statue, drawing Aria's eyes in the indicated direction. At first, she saw nothing amiss; and then, her gaze locked on a single, gruesome anomaly. In one of Anoragot's outstretched hands, representing his hunger for lowly departed souls, lied the motionless body of a batarian man.

"We're waiting until you give the all-clear to move him," said Aetius, "only because that's Olat Dar'nerah."

Aria frowned, pallid eyes still fixated on the dead man. She folded her arms. Olat Dar'nerah, the son of Ralot Dar'nerah, had been an active member of her administration for years now, not only proving to be just as mentally and physically formidable as his father had been, but also acting as a liaison between Aria and Ralot's pirate fleet, which Olat had inherited some few decades previously. Her frown deepened as the loss of a valuable ally caustically ate at her mind, rapidly warping her distress into rage toward whoever had the gall to kill him. "What happened?" she asked Aetius.

"I had a guy go up there and check him when we got here," said the lieutenant. "Cause of death was a gunshot wound to the back of the head. Point-blank, execution style. Small rounds so they didn't damage anything but the brain. And there's another thing… His eyes were gouged out. Right out of the skull, looks like it was done with proper surgical tools rather than a cheap job with a knife. Not sure if it happened post-mortem or not, but I'd hope so for the bastard's sake."

"Why is he up there?" she said, gesturing with her head. "Who put him there?"

"Well, we asked about that. Asked the patrons what they saw. Everyone who saw something says that he _climbed_ up there on his own and lied down. People thought he was just drunk. Some laughed at him, even. When one of the bartenders went over to check him, they found him dead as he is."

Despite the dour circumstances, Aria almost laughed at the recount. "You expect me to believe a story like that? You know how unreliable eyewitnesses are. It's dark in here, someone was murdered, and in a way that resonated with the superstitions of the majority on this floor. That already discredits most of what any of them have to say. I don't believe a single word of it. Let's just find the idiot who did this and take care of them." She paused, looking up at the body once more, shaking her head contemptuously. Revenge _would_ be had. "Someone get him down from there. Get a thorough autopsy done."

"What about a proper burial?" a batarian guard bravely inquired. "He's a batarian and someone's put out his eyes! The soul _has_ to leave through the eyes or it's condemned to rot and be devoured by Anoragot. We have a responsibility to help him or suffer the same fate through negligence."

Aria turned to address him, approaching the man closely enough for him to grow rigid with fear. She gripped his collar, yanking him in her direction. "Tell me, at this moment, who do you fear more? Anoragot, or me? While he may or may not exist, _I_ _do_. You know that for sure. And you _know_ what I'll do to you if you defy my orders."

He nodded multiple times in quick succession.

"So do as I say," said Aria. "And when you're done, you can do what you need to do for him. Understand?"

"Yes, boss."

"Good," she released him and looked back at Aetius, who had been overseeing a few other guards as they carried the corpse down. "Aetius."

The turian immediately turned his head in her direction.

"Follow me. We're going to view security footage."

She and her lieutenant left the scene behind, walking around the bar to the door marked for employee access only. They entered, emerging into a passage illuminated by the same blue as the rest of the floor, keeping their bodies doused in that purgatorial, cold depth of space. The music was attenuated now, low and thudding through the walls like the steady heartbeat of the nightclub, resonating from deep within. A few workers passed them; the pair of batarians instantly moved to one side, shrinking beneath the pirate queen's indomitable presence and clinging to the wall as they hurried by. When Aria and Aetius arrived in the dark surveillance room, lit by the many screens projecting live feeds of the current floor and the two above and below, a turian and volus turned away from their monitors to rise and greet her.

"Aria," said the turian. "We had a feeling you'd want to come here. We've got the playback ready." He motioned to the monitor he had been previously seated before.

"So you saw what happened?" Aria asked him while taking the chair. The glow of the monitors washed over her face as she brought her attention to the scenes captured by their electronic eyes. Aetius sat down in the chair beside his boss, pulling it over to get a better view.

"Yes," the turian security guard answered Aria's question. "…And we're just as confused at all this."

She interpreted his reaction as quite the foreboding one; however, she gave it little weight, as she still needed to see for herself what happened. When Aetius pressed a finger to the console, the recording began to play.

"He'll show up in about eight seconds," said the volus, pausing to audibly inhale through his suit's breathing apparatus. He pointed at the floor's main doors. "Right there."

Sure enough, the form of Olat Dar'nerah arrived precisely when and where he was predicted to, passing through the doors and beginning to make his way toward his final resting place. He was a dark form among many, another individual to be lost amidst the organism of conglomerated others dancing and drinking themselves into hours of contentment.

"Pause it," said Aria, prompting Aetius to obey before their target was consumed by the crowds. "Zoom in. Let's take a look at his face."

The impressive resolution of their cameras, even while set in the bleak darkness, revealed Olat's face as sharply as it would appear in person. What was found rendered them all utterly silent.

Four gaping holes in the place of his eyes, glistening with blackened blood that dripped down the varying contours of his face like thin streams of tears, returned their stunned leers with an empty one. Aria reclined in her chair, studying the sight with scrupulous attention to minute detail. She was far more confounded than disturbed; as Aetius had reported, a bullet had been identified as the cause of death. Was it possible that Olat's eyes had been removed while he was still alive, then while traveling through the chaos of the club, someone had shot him? But no gunshots had been reported. A silencer of some sort, then? But then how did he end up in the statue's hand?

"Get a lock on him," Aria said, not wanting to speculate quite yet. "Play."

A red outline framed Olat's body as he strode through the center of the crowds. His path was absolutely straight with no detectable variation, not even to avoid patrons. He either brushed against them or shamelessly pushed past as his legs carried him ceaselessly forward, as if animated by an incorrigible, ethereal force that had him travel this route and no other; by a trance, an instinctive migration, by the magnetic pull of the death god, beckoning him to his demise. When Olat left the field of vision, the recording automatically switched to a different angle.

"How did no one see that? How could an injury that horrific go unnoticed by all those people?" Aetius remarked with bewilderment.

"Imagine seeing that for an instant as he passed by," Aria said, not looking away from the monitor. "What would you have done? Would you have believed what you saw, in the darkness, in the flashing, moving lights, that this man's eyes had actually been gouged out while he was still alive? Would you go up to him and see if that nightmare was real, or would you rather just pretend that you hadn't seen anything and go about your business?"

Aetius shrugged. "I suppose I really wouldn't want to believe it. Especially since he doesn't seem to be in any agony."

Aria continued to watch the vid without taking her eyes off of Olat for an instant. She was half-anticipating a shot to the back of his head, half-anticipating… she didn't even know what. Anything to discredit the highly peculiar accounts of the eyewitnesses. When Olat's back was to the camera, she ordered Aetius to pause it again. "Stop and zoom in," she said.

He did as commanded, enhancing the image to focus on the back of Olat's head, and what they discovered was just as jarring as their first revelation; the gunshot wound was there in all its dreadful glory, taunting Aria where she remained trapped within perplexity. "Play the rest of it," she said, frustration becoming apparent on her voice before the images began to move again. The remainder of the vid followed the stories with impeccable accuracy, from the moment the man climbed over the bar to the chagrin of the bartenders, scaled the statue without a single flaw in the undertaking despite his lack of vision, to when he lied down in Anoragot's massive hand, where the man went to rest for the last time. People were beginning to gather around the spectacle when Aria pushed her chair back and rose to her feet.

"This doesn't make any fucking sense," she growled, pacing behind the two chairs while watching the vid over Aetius' shoulder. People were throwing things at Olat, probably finding the whole situation to be hilarious, until a few guards ordered them to stop. After restoring the peace and preventing any more projectiles from entering the air, a batarian bartender began to carefully scale the statue. He grabbed Olat's shoulder, shaking him, trying to rouse the man from his slumber, ignorant of its eternal hold. After a moment he suddenly drew away in fright, likely upon realization that Olat was very much dead, and nearly fell from his perch. The people below were moving now, their masses trembling with panic, retreating away from bar. After shakily climbing back down the body of Anoragot, the bartender staggered over to the guards.

"They called me after that," said Aetius. "And here we are."

"This doesn't make sense," Aria repeated, still lurking behind her employees while immersed in rapid, calculating thoughts. "Something happened to him before he entered Afterlife. Someone did something to him to make this happen. I want to know what, how, and why… I want to speak with that bartender." She pointed at the person in question. "Who is that? Bring them to me."

"It's Bothan Korgess," said the volus. "I'll call him up right now."

* * *

:::

* * *

Seated in a private booth beneath the same deathly blue that had cloaked the inexplicably reanimated man as he strode into the arms of a nefarious god, the bartender Bothan Korgess fought to keep his composure while under the scrupulous gaze of Aria T'Loak and her lieutenant seated nearby upon the booth's incomplete circle. It was almost painful to meet Aria's eyes and return her stare; their silvery incandescence burned through the underworldly gloom of lights that flashed, dimmed, and swept over their bodies again like a terrible lightning storm. They were a pair of torches piercing into him, illuminating whatever she wanted of his recollection with the same unforgiving harshness of a sun.

The pirate queen could plainly see his nervous body language. He badly wanted to flee, but she kept him. There were many questions she wanted answered. "I've heard a lot of accounts tonight," she said at length, folding her hands together onto the glass table set in their midst, "and they vary from person to person, but one feature remains the same. Olat Dar'nerah, a dead man, was seen moving himself into the position we found him in. Now, I want to hear _your _account. What happened, from your point of view?"

Bothan nodded a few times, gathering his voice. "Well, I didn't see him until he was near the bar. I didn't see his face at first, because, you know… I don't really take a good look at anyone unless they're ordering a drink." He stopped to watch Aetius offering his boss a cigarette before lighting a dextro-friendly variant for himself.

"Go on," said Aria. Though her tone was detached and distant, she was closely listening, even while diverting her gaze to bring forth into existence a small orange flame; a sudden discordance within the surrounding cobalt aura that enveloped them. An idle stream of smoke followed.

"He climbed over the bar while I was tending to a customer," Bothan continued. "He had already started to climb the statue by the time I noticed what he was doing." When Aetius offered him a cigarette, Bothan shook his head. "No thank you."

"Take it," Aetius insisted.

"I don't smoke. Bad for my health."

Aria removed hers from her lips, tapping some of the ashes into a tray mounted in the table, and tilted her head to the right. "I'm sure you get a lot of second-hand around here."

"Yes, well, I suppose I don't need to be making it worse for myself. But again, thank you," Bothan nodded, returning Aria's gesture by canting his head leftward. "Anyway… when the guy was climbing up, I yelled at him. Told him to get down, but he kept going. When he lied down in Anoragot's hand, people had showed up to watch. They jeered, laughed at him. Started throwing things. Bottles. Food. Garbage. I mostly stopped them because I knew I'd end up being the one to pick up all their trash, so I told a guard to keep them back while I climbed up after the guy, who at the time I assumed was just drunk. So I pulled up a stool, climbed up the rest of the way, and tried to wake up the poor bastard. Shook him, shouted at him, jabbed at him, but he didn't do a thing. Then I took another step upward to get a better look at him when… when I saw what was wrong with him. Scared the shit out of me. I couldn't believe it. I almost fell right at that instant, but managed to hang on and get myself down again in one piece. Then I called the guard. And… that's it."

Aria looked away from him, glancing about the booth in thought. She relaxed in her seat, pulling a leg up to rest over the other, and finally asked the bartender, "Did you know who Olat Dar'nerah was?"

"I knew the name, but not the face."

"How long have you been working here?"

"A little less than two months."

From where she sat comfortably nestled in the shadows, Aria asked him one final question. "What do you think happened, Bothan? What do you think was done to Olat, to… manufacture this scenario?"

He was silent for a long interval of time, all four eyes flitting about the face of the pirate queen. "I… I really don't know. I don't have the slightest idea. Maybe… maybe this is some sort of intervention."

"Intervention…?" she languidly repeated to invoke an elaboration.

"From the gods, perhaps," Bothan replied with caution. "They could be angry at him. At us. For all we know… maybe this is a warning. Of the end—the end of time."

Aria's stony expression remained unchanging, slightly obscured by the tongues of smoke rising from the cigarette between her fingers. After a period spent gazing at him with frightening, livid eyes, she said, "You can go now."

"Yes ma'am," he said, graciously nodding before sliding out of the booth and heading back toward the bar.

When he was gone, Aetius turned to Aria. "The end-times, huh?" he mused, sounding jocund as a small puff of smoke left his jaws.

"Apparently," came her dry response.

He chuckled, shaking his head, but gradually became severe once more. "…What do you think is going on?"

Aria reached forward, smashing the remnants of her cigarette into the ashtray. "I think someone went to great lengths to fuck with us." While watching the last, dying tendrils wisp up from their grave like mournful spirits, she frowned, narrowed her eyes, and continued, "Because I don't believe in ghosts."


	2. Selective Elimination

**A/N:** Just a note concerning the apparent traditions of each species about names accompanying ranks. Turians seem to be generally referred to by their surnames, such as the case of "Primarch Victus" (Adrien Victus). Asari, on the other hand, seem to prefer using their first names when following a title/honorific, for example, the matriarchs. So I've deduced that while the turian councilors are going by their last names, the asari councilors are using their first names, and I will be applying that to this story. Also... Tevos will be getting a surname and a background.

* * *

[ **Chapter 2:** Selective Elimination ]

* * *

**TORUS INQUIRER — "The Galaxy's Powers: One Big Family?"**

This evening, in the Kassia Concert Hall on the Presidium, Primarch Kylris Estulius will be officially sworn in as the next turian councilor, and thenceforth be no longer known as Primarch Estulius, but Councilor Estulius. As those familiar with turian politics know, one rises through the meritocracy's many tiers by exhibiting exceptional public service, and at the very peak of the hierarchy stand the primarchs. Generally, to select a councilor to represent the turian race, the primarchs convene for a vote and select one from their number based on past deeds, merit of character, and their significance in society.

However, when Primarch Estulius' selection was announced last week, the public erupted in whispers regarding the vote's integrity, as Kylris Estulius was one of six primarchs originally hailing from the same extended bloodline. The allegations are currently tentative, since a look at Estulius' history reveals all the necessary prerequisites for legitimate candidacy.

"Greatness is something that can be found in any family," says Donil Sonus, from Kithoi Ward, who has been following the election since its beginning. "Although children of great men and women are held to high standards—often expected to follow in their footsteps—there are countless bloodlines just as qualified and decorated to take these positions. I'm somewhat skeptical, but our primarchs are a very honorable group. They've served the turian state well throughout their entire lives, so even if Estulius' selection was the result of subtle favoritism, he's also a favorite among the rest of his people. I don't expect our new councilor to disappoint."

But not all people, turians especially in this matter, are as equally accepting of their government's decision. Some complain that the same, well-established, highly influential bloodline has composed a large percentage of the primarchs, as well as prominent business owners and military officials, for centuries. Others claim that the extended family is merely an excellent example of turian greatness and should be looked upon for guidance. Even so, the people of Council space will watch tonight's oath ceremony with a wary eye, because the suspicious circumstances do not end there—with the turians—but reaches as far as the family of our asari councilor as well.

Ralleus Maevian, father of Councilor Tevos and original proprietor of Lysium Defense [a prodigal company who led the way in combat armor and shield generator technologies for decades before equally merging with Dyssix Arsenal, then proceeding to stand the test of time until becoming what is currently known as Armax Arsenal; now a major supplier of military-grade turian armaments and gear] over six centuries ago, was also part of the same bloodline as Kylris Estulius, and is widely regarded as the man who lifted the family line from obscurity and into fame. Although Councilor Tevos no longer has legal ownership of any portion of Armax Arsenal [after signing over her inherited percentage to her half-sister, Iona Maevian, during her maiden years], the fact that Kylris Estulius is technically—by validation of records, if not by literal blood—a cousin of Councilor Tevos has become a wide point of conjecture.

"The turians don't want to admit it," says turian dock worker Nelia Aquilus, "but most have this… small feeling of disapproval. Of doubt. We're too proud of our culture and its ideals of duty to admit that just because we usually grow up surrounded by these community-inclined principles, doesn't mean there aren't people out there who are going to manipulate the system for personal gain. I'm not saying Estulius has been unfairly selected, because his records plainly show nobility, but I think people should see this as a wakeup call. To keep an eye out, because our system isn't incorruptible. And part of those staunch values we're immersed in since birth directs us to correct injustices whenever we see them. To take a stand when needed. But as of now, I have no reason to raise any alarms. So as long as these guys—this powerful extended family—do what the people expect of them and keep everything reasonably clean, I've zero problems. I respect these men and women immensely. I support them, but… not blindly, is what I'm meaning to say."

* * *

:::

* * *

She had grown accustomed to the feeling evoked by many pairs of eyes upon her at once. Their gazes were imbued with expectation, seeking to skewer any false movement, to morph into glares at any inappropriate phrasing or self-contradiction. Their stares, as always, were as harsh as the lights trained on the podium at which she stood with the salarian councilor, preparing to open the ceremony with a short, well-rehearsed speech, a standard sentiment of congratulations and goodwill delivered to the impending third member of their trio. It was necessary. It was a show to put smiles on the faces whose eyes threatened to accuse their leaders. And it was ironic, that this was the method used to appeal to audiences who often strove to expose their politicians of villainous actions, or ones with manipulative purposes; for the councilors and organizers of the event were doing just exactly that. Eliciting smiles through the medium of kind words, of enduring peace and cooperation between races, and although those principles were generally shared amongst the majority of ruling powers throughout Council space, intentions did not always properly manifest through actions.

The galaxy was a dark place, both literally and figuratively. Throughout the time spent holding her office, Councilor Tevos had witnessed countless secrets, cover-ups, and pulled strings executed with galactic security in mind—in mind, yes, but minds wavered, stumbled, and faltered. In logic and in reason; in reality and in motivation.

Advanced obelisks containing unimaginable wisdom lied hidden in temples. Investments in Traverse research and development flourished under the shielding arm of the Council despite questionable practices in both morality and conduct. Violent allies from foreign domains had shaken hands with them, forging delicate armistices that could be exploited or broken in an instant, cutting a swath for hostilities anew. All these done in the name of galactic concord and stability. Those words, or diplomatic variations to suit the circumstance, were found on every dire mandate, or heavily-encrypted and redacted imperative, rationalized, specifically tailored for government utilization, and for plausible deniability if it came to that.

And here the two current councilors stood beneath the pale, golden lights, presiding over the sea of eyes as they openly welcomed yet another successor to partake in their ceaseless affairs.

There might have been a time when Tevos would have grimaced at her state, but that was a long time ago. She had been idealistic, unexposed to extents of what her job would entail, even in spite of all the disconcerting information and lessons absorbed when still working under her predecessor. The trauma had only served as her inspiration to correct ills, but as time when on, and as she found herself involved in all the scenarios she once wised to abolish, an enervating realization dawned upon her as harshly as a sun at summer's height: there really was no escape. No way to combat the necessity of secrecy and façade, lest she unleash widespread panic unto the public or neglect to stop the potential advances of enemies who could easily be either appeased or assassinated, depending on their level of compliance and value as an allied asset. _Selective elimination—_they repurposed the phrase to name that specific process. And that was one of the least used incarnations of the phrase, mainly for its lack of tact.

Spectres or STG units would march into their offices with blood on their palms and openly declare the liberties they had taken to complete their objectives. And they would be pardoned, sent out again without a hint of remorse felt at doing anything wrong, not because they lacked the capacity to feel guilt, but because they _had not_ done anything wrong, not in the eyes of the Council, the law (or lack thereof, especially in the case of Spectres), or to those many citizens who admired their work and justified, _rationalized_, every dropped corpse.

This celebration of the next turian councilor—this empty, yet extraordinarily significant, symbolic, and well-regarded ceremony in the eyes of most whether they actually found enjoyment in watching it or not—had now begun, calling upon the diligence of the councilors, requesting their cordial masks to be worn. And worn they were, from the gentle smile on Tevos' lips, to the Victa Jansius designer dress wrapped around her body as an emblem of status, success, and her apparently immense levels of involvement and happiness to be in that exact spot at that exact moment. She, having seniority in office, opened the speech with professional amity infused into the most synthetically warm voice she could conjure.

"For centuries, this cohesive unit, the Citadel Council, has stood as the functioning beacon of galactic wholeness. Various races from every corner of our disk of stars and dust have found their way into this humble community, established on the pillars of knowledge and prosperity. Knowledge; to seek the answers of the strange and wide universe we have found ourselves within. And prosperity; to join others bearing those same questions and ambitions of securing peaceful, fulfilled lives for every creature who steps forth bearing honorable, selfless contributions." The asari councilor kept her eyes forward, gracefully altering her gaze whenever the flowing artistry of her subtle inflections deemed it appropriate. "Though our path has been rough, marred by times of war and grief, we have persevered through the great nobility of citizens and soldiers, scholars and scientists, families and friends. Time moves us all forward, and changes continually arrive. Eras end, eras begin." She stopped, glancing at the salarian councilor beside her, who continued as rehearsed.

"This past era was a proud one," he said, "and I myself am filled with pride at the privilege I was granted, to have worked alongside Councilor Alvian. It was only befitting for his selected successor to equate his stature of merit and character; a task entrusted to the honored primarchs, who have, after much deliberation, presented our community with a individual deemed worthy of such a prestigious office. We, the Council, welcome this man with open arms and look forward to maintaining the greatness of our fantastic alliance with the turian voice present in out trio. Primarch Kylris Estulius, the esteemed, chosen representative of the turian race, will now become Councilor Estulius with our complete approval and eagerness."

When the brief opening speech of the ceremony came to a close, ovation was generously given, and did not quell until the two councilors had left the stage and returned to their seats in the very front row. Primarch Gallinus, accompanied by Primarch Estulius, now strode up to the podium in replacement, and were greeted with the same praise. Estulius was tall, stately, and the owner of a charismatic smile as well as a face adorned by angular white patterns. While Gallinus, representing the entirety of the primarchs, began proceeding with his standard introductions and business-like promises of duty and integrity to be found in the man beside him, Tevos discreetly turned her head a few degrees to speak over her shoulder, willing her quiet words to reach her friend seated one row behind.

"Was I rigid?" she inquired. "And I profoundly hope that my tone was not sickening."

"These little speeches are always sickening," Irissa replied with a smile, leaning forward to help her reciprocally hushed voice find the councilor. "But you made it bearable. And anyone still given any degree of indigestion probably forgave you for wearing that dress."

"I see," Tevos said, her response growing in volume from an amused hum. "I suppose most people have forgotten that I do indeed posses a neck and clavicles."

"I'm never sure whether you pick up on my innuendos or not, Tevos. You always convey to me _half_-understanding, but I never know whether your prudence has censored the other half."

The councilor returned her attention to the stage, content with leaving Irissa without an answer.

At the end of Primarch Gallinus' short speech, he turned to Estulius and began reciting the turian version of the councilor's oath for their selected candidate to repeat. When the final words were spoken, the building erupted in lengthy applause as Gallinus departed, leaving the new turian councilor at the podium to deliver his own speech.

"When I was boy, just starting boot camp," he began, "I honestly had no idea how I'd live up to greatness of my father. He was a lifelong military man, a hero in my eyes, and I vividly remember marveling at all the decorations he acquired over time. As a boy, I was immensely intimidated. I wasn't sure if I'd be able to make him proud in the end. But here I am, and my father is with the Spirits, hopefully here this evening to see how far his son made it. But not only do I feel the pride of my father, but the pride of the entire turian race, which is an overwhelming honor. We're a proud people, very parsimonious with our praise; exclusively reserving it for those individuals who have thoroughly proven themselves to the community. And to be the recipient of that praise... transcends words. So great is this gift that it steers me in the unwavering direction of repayment. I make this promise today, to all of you, turian, asari, salarian, volus, hanar, batarian, elcor, drell, _every_ soul in this noble realm of united peoples, that I will perform to the very best of my abilities to protect and preserve our safety and prosperity; values that echo in every sentient being, values of happiness and honesty..."

* * *

:::

* * *

The moment the skycar's doors hissed open, the group climbed inside the interior and settled down into their seats. The doors shut again, locking into place with a click, and the driver sent the vehicle into a smooth, steady rise. They left the platform behind, ascending to the heights of baleful spires hanging inverted from the district above like stalactites spanning a cavern's vast ceiling. When the vehicle merged into the brisk tides of traffic, eternal dusk gleamed over its body, creating a vacillating, reflective sheen, and within the compact shell, the passengers initiated their confidential discussion.

In the back row of seats, Aria spoke first. "Let's hear the results," she said to the asari beside her.

The forensic specialist, Kriana, gave a nod, bringing the familiar glow of a datapad to life. The emitted light bathed her face. "…Olat Dar'nerah's death was indeed caused by a gunshot wound to the back of the cranium, and through to the brain. The injury was inflicted by a small round with a diameter no larger than a centimeter. We've recovered the bullet." She reached down to the satchel lain across her lap, gingerly sifting through its contents before producing a sealed bag with the tiny item safely inside.

Aria took it in hand, examining the bullet under the flickering, sweeping lights that doused their bodies in sporadic intervals. "What sort of gun fires these? It looks batarian." She held the bag close to her face. "And it's old."

"We matched it to a model no longer in production, not for decades. A small handgun of batarian origin, called a 'druta'." When Aria returned the bag, Kriana slipped it into the satchel again. "The bullet tore through the region of the brain responsible for motor skills, as well as lower-level ones, including breathing and organ functionality. He died very quickly."

"And what about him climbing the statue?" Aria asked. "What do you and Havlon have on that?"

"Doctor Havlon originally suspected some sort of parasitic spore to be at work," answered Kriana, "as there are many documented species capable of hijacking a host's body functions in such a manner. However, after running countless tests, we could find no foreign biological anomalies in the body, and that hypothesis was dismissed. Whatever was done to Olat Dar'nerah was likely to have been electric; for example, the running of a current through muscle to induce spasms. But even then, we found absolutely no devices inside the body able to 'reanimate' the corpse with that level of exhibited sophistication and precision of movement."

Aria looked away from her, casting her gaze to the scenery beyond the window instead; the sedated hues of ash, rock, and the everlasting, haunting premonition of a fire somewhere nearby. "So we've got a dead man walking, who apparently entered Afterlife unharmed, as reported by witnesses and bouncers. Therefore whatever happened to him was done somewhere in the club itself, which we cannot find in the security footage." When the skycar passed between two massive structures, a deep shadow obscured the interior, blackening the forms of their bodies until they emerged into the light once again. "And I find it to be quite obvious," Aria began anew, eyes still peering outward, "that whoever is doing this had something personal against Olat. And just this morning, as we found, against Lieutenant Pasora as well. Has Havlon spoken of that yet?"

"No ma'am," replied Kriana, words accompanied by a negating shake of her head. "Just his complaint of not having much to work with."

For the first time during their ride, the batarian piloting the vehicle spoke up. "As small as it was, why use a bomb? Aren't there much more… subtle ways of taking out someone?"

"Pasora was vain," Aria said wryly while reclining into her seat. "I don't think she'd be happy to know that the corpse she left behind wasn't pretty. It was quite… appalling." A wrinkle in the bridge of her nose appeared in recollection of the bloody mess splattered around the corner of a local restaurant, and in the booth, where the disfigured remainder of the asari commando sat; chest split wide open, dripping organic debris onto the table like the sweet flesh of a melon given forth from its broken rind. And the lower half of the face was stripped, ivory bone of both teeth and skull glistening with streams of darkening violet—and to top it all off, a thin, expensive cigarette still resting between two bloody fingers, no longer anything but a stick of ashes forgotten by its owner, who slumped forward with dreary, sightless eyes glazed over by a violent, sudden death. In further reaction to the memory, Aria's features gradually hardened into a menacing glare. "These assassinations were done in a manner that most insulted the target," she reasoned aloud. "It's a _very _personal affair. Either both of them angered the same entity, or the entity is indiscriminately after my entire administration. The latter is more probable." A moment was spent pensively tapping her fingers upon the seat in a steady, barely-audible rhythm that joined the gentle hum of the vehicle.

Not only were these mysterious murders plaguing her, demanding her attention and swift response, but a struggle between her syndicate and a gang known as the White Crests was drawing out much longer than she had originally estimated. They were engaged in a deadlock over territory in the Kenzo District, and although Aria's forces were steadily pushing forward and eroding White Crest numbers, the area was a thicket of haphazardly stacked structures that created something no less than a maze in which entire platoons could hide and slip away. The only reason why Aria hadn't opted for a more aggressive invasion was for the fact that a slower approach lessened her amount of casualties, but as the situation became increasingly time-consuming, Aria was beginning to lean toward a change in plans favoring an all-out assault despite the heavy losses she was bound to suffer. Securing the Kenzo District would free up some operatives to help with the assassinations, at the very least.

A sudden chime in her omni-tool captured her attention. Aria answered the audio-only call. "You better have some good news for me," she said coldly, awaiting her officer's response.

After a hesitation, the man spoke. _"I'm afraid I don't. You still want to hear this, or should I wait until another time?"_

"Just tell me."

"_They got another."_

"Fuck," Aria said when her worst suspicions were confirmed. She turned to look beyond the window again, bearing venom in her glare. "Where?" she asked at last. "Who?"

"_They got Aetius Visiom. Lower Kima District, sewer entrance five."_

She said nothing, not quite knowing what to do with the burning rage igniting within her, and the other occupants of the skycar remained completely silent and as motionless as possible, perhaps wishing to disappear into the very upholstery. "…We're on our way," she muttered, ending the call.

The driver obediently changed course, diverging from the current traffic flow, and assumed a different route linking them to the intended destination. Their skycar entered a long tunnel, coming under the staggered points of illumination mounted in the ceiling whose glazes of industrial orange began skipping over the vehicle. Beneath the flashing, warm light continuously passing through the tinted windows, coating her angered body, Aria sank back into a string of thought.

She had not expected Aetius, of all people, to fall victim to carelessness. His entire reputation was founded upon his reliable discretion, his mindfulness, his pragmatism. How could he have let this happen? When the skycar had left the tunnel, they emerged into dusk again, soaring between the bleak buildings of the Kima District. Her eyes washed over the craggy vista, over the complexes, the somber apartments… As her thoughts evolved, Aria suddenly looked away, returning her stare to the vehicle's dark interior, and paused within deep cognizance for a few brief moments.

"Stop up there," she said to the driver, shifting forward and extending her arm past the row of seats to point at a convenient landing platform on the tier they traveled alongside. "I need to make a quick call."

* * *

:::

* * *

On the surface of a metal desk set before a window overlooking Omega's solemn labyrinth, an e-book's text filled the screen of a tablet. The reader poured over it, absorbing written accounts about the first worlds discovered by asari explorers long ago. Illustrious gas giants cloaked in eerie auras, garden planets teeming with alien flora, hostile orbs of molten rock, shifting and churning ceaselessly throughout time. And occasionally, celestial spheres blessed with deep oceans and mild weather, suitable for both expeditions and eventual colonization. It was quite romantic. Ships would sail out into the void, sometimes for years, even decades, maintained by the ambitious minds aboard braving space's daunting limbo for but the sake of knowledge.

Most returned. Some ships never did. The reader particularly wondered about those—were they destroyed? Did they get lost? Did they crash land and construct their own new society? Then there were those vessels that appeared to be lost, sometimes for decades, only to reappear on the horizon of the Parthina System one day proudly announcing a completed mission. Their survival stories were remarkable, often involving the growing or breeding of their own food aboard the vessel, harvesting new fuel sources from planets stumbled upon, and a handful of births had even been documented. It was a drifting city, a perfect community in its own right, traveling over the astonishing distances never intended to be traversed. They had seized their own destinies. They had set forth into the wide universe their people had suddenly awoken within one day as incredible, tiny motes of dirt and water; disoriented, with purpose uncertain, and yet, still mustering the courage to venture outward, only armed with insatiable curiosity and an ounce of resourcefulness.

The sound of the room's door disengaging and sliding open inspired the reader to abruptly turn around. She identified the intruder as a familiar matron, who lingered in the doorway until being granted acknowledgement. "Iaera," said the reader, reorienting the chair to face her visitor with inquisition lighting in her eyes.

"I have some unfortunate news," said Iaera, taking a few steps into the bedroom. "We're going to be moving again. Start packing your things within the hour."

"What?" the girl furrowed her brow, taken by both surprise and confusion. "We just moved not a month ago—"

"The orders come directly from your mother," explained the matron, "so it's non-negotiable. But I can tell you the reason why. There have been deaths in her administration. Assassinations. Your mother fears that you could be targeted as well, and so she wants us to relocate again."

A frown. "Sounds like plain paranoia. Her administration is always getting themselves killed, and none of the current members even know about me. It's not like the information could be taken from them."

Iaera pursed her lips in disapprobation. "These assassinations have been very well-executed. Professionally done, by what seems to be a capable enemy. That also introduces the possibility of tapped communications. They could know about you, but we don't know who they are. Your mother is doing this for your safety, Liselle. Don't you think this inconveniences me as well? We're all trying to keep you safe; that's the point of all this, our main priority."

Liselle turned away, facing the window again and leering out at the city, growing silent for a while. "Are you sure the main priority isn't getting paid?" she quietly inquired, voice tainted with accusation.

"Liselle…" Iaera shook her head incredulously, dolefully, and then donned an expression of offense. "I watched you grow up from _infancy_. Don't you dare think that I haven't grown to care about you over these many past years as a real family member would." She drew a bit closer, hoping Liselle would grasp the sincerity of her words. "So don't resent me for this, or your mother either."

The maiden tapped her foot on the floor a few times, still frowning, but the displeasure soon morphed into emerging guilt as she swiveled the chair to face Iaera again. "I'm sorry," she admitted. "It just… frustrates me."

"What frustrates you?" Iaera asked, patiently taking a seat nearby upon the edge of the bed and looking at the girl, whose body was obscured by the shadow it cast upon itself after intercepting the window's warmly-hued glow.

Liselle hesitated, bringing her eyes downward to piece her thoughts together. Her pale irises visibly flitted about the drab, carpeted floor while formulating an answer, and when she had one, she lifted her head again. "She treats me like a helpless child. Not like a person completely capable of defending herself."

Iaera tilted her head. "Liselle, don't you think Aria's administration were also capable of defending themselves? Even they were killed by whoever was after them."

"But Zuria's been training me for longer than some of them have even been alive," Liselle objected. "In turian years, or batarian years, I'm a decade or two away from middle-aged! Listen to my voice!" She gestured emphatically by touching her fingertips to the high collar that clad her throat, bringing attention to one of the only reliable gauges of an asari's age. "I don't squeak like a little girl anymore! I haven't in years, I'm just… I'm obviously grown. I'm not a stupid child, and yet she still treats me like precious cargo, more so than a daughter. Just keeping me hidden and safe because failing to protect me—one person—would probably embarrass her…" She turned, resting her elbows on the desk, and brought her hands up to cover her face. "I didn't mean that," she said, voice muffled and contrite.

Iaera rose, approached the girl, and laid a gentle hand upon her shoulder. "You know she loves you," she said.

"I know," Liselle said, keeping her hands over her face. She only removed them to speak again, recognizing the impedance they caused her speech. "And I know we have to move. I understand. I'll start packing right now... I just get restless, and sometimes I blame my mother for that." Her gaze fell upon her tablet, resting on the desk as she left it. The screen was dark with hibernation. "I make her the villain because she's what's keeping me holed up here, away from everything. And whenever I do go out there's always a gang of commandos with me, all telling me where I can and can't go, what I can and can't do…"

After taking an empathetic pause, Iaera responded. "I understand where your restlessness is coming from," she said, giving the girl's shoulder a small, reassuring squeeze. "It's completely normal for someone your age. And I'm also glad you're able to see both sides of this predicament. You're very bright. Just remember not to let this restlessness take control of your life, because you are an extremely important person, Liselle. It would be awful to see you harmed as a result of recklessness. A day will come, perhaps sooner than you think, when all your patience will be rewarded. You'll be armed with biotic skill and an education; those things will take you far on Omega, especially combined with your mother's blessing."

Liselle was quiet, immersed in thought, but ultimately decided to nod in agreement. She rose from her chair, nearly matching Iaera's height when standing with legs erect. The girl's stature still took the matron by surprise sometimes, for it did not feel so long ago when Liselle was but a small child jumping around on the sofas before supper, or when she requested help to reach high shelves, or when her mother would lift her from the floor and into her arms whenever she visited. And now, standing before her was Aria T'Loak's daughter, the very same girl—albeit taller, wiser, and stronger—brimming with potential, and keeping the same alert, questioning facets in her eyes she had possessed since childhood.

She was gentler than her mother. She smiled and laughed more often, more benignly—her eyes would shine, and on occasion she would inadvertently scrunch her nose in delight as humor took hold—and she was capable of doing so without siphoning detriment from others to synthesize comedy for herself; a tendency of which her mother was blatantly guilty. And Liselle did not invoke nor demand the same absolute terror from whoever witnessed her glares, not like Aria did. Her words could come just as icily and injurious as Aria's when crossed, but in the arenas of temperament, interpersonal distance, and the preferred degree of ostentation in one's image, mother and daughter stood incredibly separate. Iaera often pondered about whether it was a blessing or a curse to have been spared from a second Aria.

Of course, Iaera was immensely loyal to the pirate queen, but she could not deny the dread felt toward the notion of raising a brooding storm like Aria had probably been years ago during her adolescence. Had Aria always been the same? Had there ever been a time when Aria laughed with the purity Liselle harbored, or had she only bore a perpetual frown, finding enjoyment in fist-fighting with other children? It was exceedingly outlandish to attempt picturing Aria as a child. Every time Iaera tried to envision the woman at such an age, the mental image would instantly warp back to the shape of Aria's present self; when not placidly seated in Afterlife, surrounded by its luxury, sprinting like a predator in pursuit of prey, methodically tearing through enemies with biotic explosions, and shouting and roaring in the demented euphoria brought by prolonged engagements against formidable enemies.

Iaera wondered if Liselle would ever come to mirror Aria in that respect. Her biotic aptitude was still in its nascent stages, so it remained impossible to determine whether or not the girl would develop the sort of magnificent destruction her mother could call upon. It was hard to imagine a maiden so devoid of truculence following in those footsteps, as anyone who had ever seen Aria in battle could see the infernos of anger she tapped into, concentrated, subjugated, and redirected to her will. Liselle could never muster such power, not from anger. Iaera refused to see it within the girl she had essentially raised. She _knew_ Liselle, probably better than her own mother.

And yet… as she recalled, despite Aria's frequent absence, Liselle had always stubbornly identified as her mother's daughter rather than attaching herself to Iaera. It was likely a product of Aria's will, for she had specifically forbid Iaera from supplying surrogate motherly affection. Kisses and embraces only came from Aria when she was willing to give them, all to condition Liselle's bonding, to train its growth toward her biological mother over any other.

But was that not horribly selfish of Aria, to starve a young child of affection until she decided to be present? To allow the young Liselle to mope or cry on some nights when her mother had been gone too long, leaving her deprived of the comforting contact vital for her development into an emotionally and mentally healthy person? Aria had taken that risk, and Liselle had survived her imperative first years of life without any detectable debilitation, but the gamble was still an unjustifiable crime unto her daughter.

Did Liselle ever think about that? Did the maiden ever look back to her early childhood and see with her matured mind, now capable of recognizing things she was previously unaware of, that her mother had committed a terrible transgression? Did she resent her for her selfishness, or did she understand Aria's intentions and either forgive or agree with her? As Iaera left Liselle in her bedroom to begin organizing her belongings, she continued to contemplate without revealing her secret thoughts to the maiden.

Now alone, Liselle proceeded to place items of most importance upon her bed, arranging them in neat categories as her own mind began to wander and speculate about Aria T'Loak.

Assassinations targeting her administration were certainly concerning, but her mother had dealt with similar situations before. Omega was always engulfed in some type of strife, and it often leaked into Aria's territories. But she always put it down. Brutally, swiftly, and completely. Before long the problem would be solved, maybe even within the week, and moving would have been for naught. That was how things usually turned out.

Her mother was untouchable. Even when allies around her fell, Aria would always emerge unscathed after taking the fight to whoever instigated it in the first place. She was unstoppable; unmatched. Liselle welcomed a small smile into her face. She admired and loved her mother, after setting aside all the frustrations and limitations that came with being her daughter. Aria was in no danger. She was never in danger—and the only times when she seemed to be were when she was faking out an enemy to gain the upper hand.

Still, sometimes Liselle worried. She wanted to ask Aria questions, to investigate things such as whether she too was ever afraid. And beyond inquiries confined to the topic of her empire, Liselle also had many others that remained unanswered. Too many, she realized. But she held her tongue more often that not; there were just some things you didn't ask Aria T'Loak. Aria would either pretend to ignore the question by turning away, or blatantly refusing to answer it. The latter was the most frequent reaction. And pressing her mother for personal information, or even certain information Liselle felt in her right to know, was generally futile.

Over the years, Liselle had learned to not ask those questions in the first place. Not because she had lost interest, but because of imminent failure.

* * *

:::

* * *

When Councilor Estulius' speech had finally met its end, another roar of ovation engulfed the building. Other diplomats high on the pecking order joined him on the stage, shaking hands and drawing close to exchange friendly words. The sea of people in their seats rose in waves, becoming a protean mass of bodies relocating, congregating, and some departing. Then came the media, set loose from the areas they had been restricted to until this point in time, now all rushing toward the stage with camera drones in tow. Estulius laughed when someone brought them to his attention, and he stepped forward unfazed, more than willing to answer their many questions.

In the front rows of the audience, C-Sec had taken to their posts around the other two councilors, keeping the press away at a safe distance until the politicians said otherwise.

"Looks like someone released the varren," Irissa quipped to Tevos, having to raise her voice over the din erupting in the great room. She nodded at the reporters in gesture. "They're going to come after us when they're done gutting Estulius. Shall we save ourselves and throw our press secretary into the pit, or should we stay to lend her a hand?"

Their press secretary, seated beside Irissa, shook her head. "Oh, that's _hilarious_." She rose from her seat along with her superiors. "Do what you will, just don't overfeed them if you choose to spare me a horrific demise."

"I suppose we can give them a few words," said Tevos, walking alongside the two other asari within a cage made from C-Sec officers. "It would only be proper to publicly comment on our new turian councilor, don't you agree?" As if her words were an invocation, a group of reporters spotted her, came rushing over, and were held at bay until Tevos told C-Sec to let them speak to her. Irissa and the press secretary stood nearby to observe the entertaining spectacle.

A slew of questions found the councilor, all at once, and she could only resolve by specifically singling out one of them to speak first.

"Rina T'Gona, Banveria News," said the lucky reporter. "Councilor Tevos, what new ideas and policies do you think Councilor Estulius will bring to the Council, in contrast with Councilor Alvian's?"

She tilted her head to ponder a moment, folding her hands neatly behind her back. "At the moment that remains unclear, but judging by Councilor Estulius' military leanings, veterans should expect some positive reforms."

Another question was issued by different reporter. "Councilor Tevos, how do you respond to the comments regarding your family ties to Estulius? What relations do you still have with the bloodline?"

Tevos hesitated, glancing over at Irissa and the press secretary, whose eyes had slightly widened. She turned back to the press. "As an asari, my relations to that side of my family have been deluded with each successful generation after my father and his other children. At this point in time, the people who compose Councilor Estulius' family are as estranged to me as any other bloodline."

"Councilor, what about Ralleus Maevian's companies, that still primarily remain in the ownership of Estulius' extended family? Do you have any ties to them?"

"I relinquished complete ownership and association to my sister long ago," Tevos began, growing slightly wary, "as I had little interest in owning a portion of a company specializing in warfare innovations."

"So you condemn what your father's company has become? Or your sister's choice to inherit it? Do you condemn weapon suppliers as a whole?"

The asari councilor indulged in another pause, suddenly thinking it a mistake to have decided to humor the press. The questions were swiftly becoming less of a convivial interview regarding the new turian councilor, and more of an interrogation propagated from an opportunity; a single suspicious link between councilors, bearing the slightest potential for nepotism, to be exploited and utterly devoured by their manic hunger for engaging, scandalous stories. "My answer is no to all of those questions," said Tevos. "My reluctance to inherit that conglomeration was a result of my personal preferences, as I already entertained specific ambitions for my future at the time, and they did not entail businesses."

"Councilor Tevos, was relinquishing ownership of your father's company while choosing to keep Theralia N'Vani's share of the element zero and palladium market a socio-political statement? Did you wish to disassociate yourself from your father's family after learning about the agenda of perpetuating your mother's archaic prefix as a sort of status symbol, by creating bridges between those bearing that name component and other prominent families?"

"The only present _agenda_ is your own," Tevos said, keeping a surprising amount of civility in her voice. "These questions are shamelessly jaundiced and I have no desire to answer any more of them."

The C-Sec officers dutifully formed a wall between the councilor and the press, helping the woman escape their vicious scrutiny. To most, Tevos' indignity was nigh invisible, but to Irissa, who had known her for centuries, it was as glaringly noticeable as the lights emitted from the camera drones hovering around like creatures of carrion.

_"Councilor Tevos!"_ the reporters called after her. _"What is the reason why you chose to keep your family name in its present state rather than converting to 'T'Vani'? Was that a conservative statement, of non-conformity to modern traditions, or in preservation of regional cultures?"_

_"Do you consider yourself an emissary for your family?"_

_"What gains has your family made from your position as asari councilor?"_

After rejoining the ones awaiting her, Tevos gave them a cryptic expression. "I did not expect to be so openly assaulted," she said as they began to depart. "But more importantly, I did not know my parentage from centuries ago could carry weight into the present selection of a turian councilor."

"How long have you been in office again?" Irissa remarked. "The press loves nothing more than to dig up dirt on the politicians. They're all biased. They're all scrambling for viewers and ratings and they'll string you up and persecute you until you've bled enough to satisfy." Her tone was very matter-of-fact, cynical, and dry.

As they continued toward the hall's exit, guarded by the ever-watchful C-Sec, Tevos subtly shook her head. "It's anticipated in such a discussion—of lineage. For certainly a demographic comprising less than a fraction of one percent of the Thessian population, yet possessing nearly eight percent of _all_ privately owned wealth on that world, poses as an excellent topic for persecution. My offense originates in their presumption that being a product of those select northeastern pedigrees is indicative of involvement in pretentious cabals revolving around market domination. Which I am not; which is the reason why I signed over my father's business to Iona long ago."

"I don't mean to be contrariant, or even a mediator," Irissa said as they neared the main doors, "but you are part of that family. Maybe not your father's line so much anymore, but to be fair, you lived off your mother's wealth and name. You were given priority all your life, and it might even be why the matriarchs and Asari High Command wanted you as councilor despite your youth in comparison to other candidates. They wanted a liaison between them and that family. Maybe by keeping reins on you they could keep reins on the 'rest of them'. Or to manipulate them as desired."

Tevos suddenly stopped, turned around, and faced her friend with an indiscernible expression, just as unfathomable as the one she had given them after escaping the press. Her green eyes were lightly quivering, reflecting the many thoughts flying through her head at dizzying speeds. After a moment she turned away again, having said nothing, and resumed their departure from the building, only to be met by another barrage of flashes originating from people trying to get holos of anyone even moderately politically significant. And Councilor Tevos was near the very top of their list—the asari councilor from a bloodline whose name was deliberately frozen in time to manufacture prestige for themselves, a seal of wealth, exotic dialect, excess; segregated in the mountains amid the ice-covered lakes to create an aspect of exclusivity, cold and distant toward those who were not them. Cold, like their hearts, vanity, and credits.

* * *

:::

* * *

When the skycar finally descended to the street, the doors lifted, permitting the passengers to rise from their seats and exit. The moment Aria's boots touched the ground, she entered a brisk stride toward the congregating guards standing around the synthetic gully leading into a main channel that ran into the vast sewer system permeating throughout Omega's tangled infrastructure, destined to eventually arrive at a purification plant. Her pace increased in speed with anticipation as she approached, preparing to demand knowledge of what fate had befallen her valuable right-hand lieutenant.

"What the hell happened?" she barked, coercing the complete attention of all in the vicinity.

A turian officer answered her. "Aetius Visiom and his squad were completely wiped out," he reported, stepping aside to let his boss join them at the edge of the sloping culvert.

The sight awaiting her was a deep gutter of murky water, stained by varying hues of blood diffusing outward in dark, cloudy halos around the four floating bodies. Two more guards wearing biohazard suits stood at the base of the culvert's declivity, looking out at the same scene from where they lingered at the edge of the stagnant, pestilent water, leaving everything undisturbed until told otherwise by their boss, who loomed seething above.

"By who?" Aria asked, hands clenching into fists at her sides.

"Well, they were checking out some explosions that happened somewhere around here. I had some tech experts get into Visiom's omni-tool without having to touch the body. Recovered the data and read through everything he sent or received today. One of the last things we found were just the orders you gave him this morning—"

"Orders?" she repeated, narrowing her eyes at the officer. "What orders?"

"The ones telling him to check out the explosions."

Aria swore. "I didn't give him those orders." She looked away, activating her own omni-tool and searching through her sent items. After finding no evidence of recent correspondences with Aetius, the glowing device faded from sight. "This was a fucking trap…" she concluded, returning her eyes to the dead souls, half-sunken and slowly, gradually drifting toward the wide black mouth of the drain patiently waiting to swallow them whole. "Pull them out," she called down to the guards below, who promptly began treading through the dismal, waist-high mire and toward the buoyant deceased.

She watched the body of Aetius Visiom being retrieved, dragged over to the cold metal shore, and rolled onto his back. There, protruding from a weak spot in his chest plating was the hilt of a turian ceremonial dagger, his very last memento from the little colony he left behind long ago. Streams of old water and blood ran down the rivets and curves of his armor, gathering into a pool beneath the corpse. Aria's choleric gaze continued to rove over him, up to his face, where she made a second gruesome discovery—his brow plate had been viciously pried off, revealing the flesh beneath, glistening raw in the light; and his mandibles had been snapped away, leaving what remained of his barely-attached jaw disturbingly mangled and jagged.

When the other dead had been towed back to land, Aria found no such mutilations inflicted upon any of their bodies. It was apparently a privilege exclusively reserved for her loyal administration, she grimly mused to herself, barely able to stave off the ire that had been building up within her head and chest in volatile proportions. "Who sent him the fake message?" Aria asked the officer, returning her leer to Aetius' body.

"Still trying to make sense of it," he replied. "The address of the original sender was heavily encrypted. Aetius probably thought _you_ were just trying to be cautious. Got a few guys on that right now, but I'm not sure if they're going to be able to get anything out of it."

A shout rose from the trench. "I've got something!" The man in the biohazard suit held up a small item. It was impossible to distinguish from the distance at which Aria stood, however, and she resolved by gesturing for the man to bring it to them.

"Better not be another fucking bomb," she said down to the man obliquely traveling up the precariously narrow pathway leading up from the culvert.

"Found it in Visiom's throat," the man said up to her, though his voice was slightly distorted by his suit's helmet, coupled by the slur of physical exertion. "We scanned it. It's a capsule; nothing potentially dangerous inside. No traces of poison or anything either." When he made it out of the culvert, he held out the small metal orb to his boss in the palm of his gloved hand.

Aria frowned with revulsion, gazing down at the coat of blood and bile encasing the capsule. She jerked her head in the direction of the turian officer standing beside her, who took it instead. His hands, unlike Aria's, were completely covered. He examined it, found a thin line encompassing the orb with an equator, and twisted the halves in opposite directions to retrieve what lay inside. Tentatively, he reached down into one of the halves, grasping something within two digits, pulled it free of its sepulchral shell, and held it to the light.

"It's… It's paper," he announced, turning over the tiny, folded sheet a few times in his hand.

"Open it. Read it," Aria said to him, intently watching him as he followed her orders.

After unfolding the note, the officer revealed lines of text written by a computer's hand, in a turian dialect. Fortunately, it was one he recognized with fluency.

'_Dead men can't read. But you can. These people died spectacularly—but I'm afraid you won't. You will die pathetically, choking on your greed and arrogance and we will parade your corpse around the districts like a trophy. The next regime awaits.'_

When the officer had finished translating the message for her, Aria nodded, hands placed on her hips. "I wonder who that was meant for," she sardonically remarked, glancing at him, then slowly grew severe once more.

"What do you want us to do?" the officer asked as the gravity of the threat sunk in. His boss was in serious danger, and that also meant that everyone affiliated with her was in equal peril.

Aria had no answer for him. Many valuable people had died all within the span of a single day, and their murderers were still at large. She could not bring the fight to them. She could only play a defensive game, and not only did that infuriate her, but defensive games always seemed to lose eventually. Discovering the identity of the enemy was urgent, and all she could think of. Before she could say anything to the man, another shout arose from the culvert, redirecting their attention.

"Visiom's got something!" the guard who remained below said. "Tucked in his undersuit's sleeve! It's uhh… It's a shard of armor with a serial number!"

"Someone check that out," Aria said. The significance of that little shard was great—Aetius always had a habit of concealing small possessions within his gloves and sleeves, usually spare ammunition, cigarettes, or lighters. For something else to be there was of immense importance and worthy of close investigation.

A salarian technology expert soon came jogging over with the results, bringing up his omni-tool's screen and presenting his findings to Aria. A three-dimensional model of the armor shard appeared in the projection, slowly rotating to showcase its dimensions. "The fragment is part of a helmet, evident by the degree of curvature and the location of the serial number. Foreign blood residue is asari, who was likely the owner." The salarian manually manipulated the model, zooming in on the serial number that appeared along with the full scan. "Original manufacturer of the helmet is on Omega, Kenzo District, and is also the main supplier of gear for Loran Enarius' White Crests. With that accounted for, and judging by the gray paint of this specific hue and location on the helmet, the probability of this fragment belonging to a White Crest member is extremely high."

Aria looked away, down at Aetius again, and felt a hint of pride swelling in her chest. Her lieutenant had likely acquired the fragment after managing to bash one of his assailants' skulls in. Perhaps while his squad held them off for as long as possible, Aetius had broken off the targeted piece of the helmet, slipped it into his sleeve, and rejoined the fray, if only to lose his life in the end; nevertheless, he had secured something invaluable for his boss, a vital piece of evidence to wield against his enemies even in death, to ensure the continuity of Aria's organization from beyond the grave._ Son of a bitch_, Aria thought with a smirk, and vividly remembered why she had appointed Aetius as her right-hand in the first place. Blood would soon be spilt in his honor.

"Get me Lieutenant Renaga on a secure line," she said, only having to wait a few moments before a thug rushed over to her with the glow of an omni-tool upon her arm. It projected the hologram of an asari, who appeared to be seated somewhere.

"We've got a lead," Aria said to her attentive lieutenant, whose brow rose with interest. "White Crests, down in the Kenzo District. I want you to relay orders and get reinforcements over there within the hour. Use the beta-six encryption key."

Renaga nodded. _"You want the reinforcements to bunker down with the established ones?"_

"No," Aria said, pacing a few steps to the left. "We're taking that district today. Now, here's the important part. We're still targeted. All of us. So when you deploy the reinforcements… ditch the routine. Adopt unpredictable movements so they can't take you out, because I'm certain they're going to try. I want you _all over_ the map, I want you all to virtually disappear while heading over to the Kenzo District_. Disappear _into the cities, fan out, travel by alternate means, _go fucking dark_. We'll rendezvous at the frontlines and charge forward. On foot, through buildings, whatever we need to do. I want to hit them fast, hard, and I don't want the Crests to ever recover, do you understand?"

"_Yes ma'am."_

"Good. Hold on." Aria turned to the rest of her operatives in the area. "Listen up!" she said. "You four stay here with Doctor Kriana and work on the bodies. The rest of you are with me. We're going to the Kenzo District."

There was swift movement; a rush of people, organizing themselves at once like a fantastic machine with all components exquisitely synchronized. They climbed into their skycars within cohesive units, activated their engines, and sent the vehicles into idle hovers with doors still hanging open while awaiting their boss to lead their warfaring caravan.

"_You're coming?"_ Renaga's hologram dubiously inquired, not fearing for Aria's life, but for the sheer chaos and destruction lying in the near future. Aria rarely joined sieges of territory, preferring to leave those enterprises in the hands of her adept officers, but when she did, the effect was similar to having a few extra gunships flown in. _"Don't you think we're being a bit hasty?"_

Aria faced her again. "You mean, 'don't you think this might be a trap'?" She afforded the other asari a knowing nod. "There's about a seventy-five percent chance that this is a trap. But what's our alternative, Lieutenant? Sitting around while my administration collapses, waiting to see who's the next hit? I don't think so. If this is a trap, then someone will likely be around to spring it. And if I catch a single glimpse of them... well, we all know what happens after that." Aria paced back the number of steps she had deviated from her original spot. "It's worth the risk. If they want me dead, they can take their best shot. Now get moving."

"_Right away_," confirmed the lieutenant, whose image vanished from sight.

The pirate queen motioned for the guard who provided the line of communication to follow her into the skycar she arrived in. When Aria boarded the vehicle at the head of their miniature fleet, she stood out on the edge of a step, holding onto the door with one hand, a gun in the other, and called out to her mercenaries, "The White Crests want to fuck with us, so let's go fuck with them. I want a bloodbath. I want a _fucking slaughter_, do you hear me?"

Voices arose in a chorus of affirmation.

"Shields online," she said before pulling her head back into the vehicle, and issued an order to the driver. "Let's go. Even if these bastards turn out not to be our real targets, at least we're changing up the game."


	3. Long Live the Queen

[ **Chapter 3:** Long Live the Queen ]

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**DAILY SCHOLAR** —** "Etymology of Asari Surnames: Prefixes"**

_[This educational article has been manually translated into over thirty different dialects by experts in each available language for the most accurate representation of information discussed.]_

Prefixes in asari surnames are as ancient as they are prevalent even in the modern population. The most recent census recorded a statistic of nearly 18% in possession of a prefix, regardless of the consonant; a clear sign that countless family lines have lasted for millennia.

Around [15,000 BCE], it was a common practice for maidens of the northern hemisphere to introduce themselves to others with their full name, followed by 'daughter of' and whomever their mother was. Depending on the region and one's personal accent, the prefix 'daughter of' could vary amongst a handful of—relatively—similarly-sounding consonants such as 'T', 'N', 'D', 'L', and 'R'. But to understand where prefixes came from in the first place, we must take a look at the naming of the asari homeworld itself. One of the first names ever recorded in reference to Thessia as a planet was 'T'Essia' [in a dead dialect originating in what is the modern-day Armali], literally translating into 'daughter of the cosmos'. The name is said to originally have been the renowned poet Nysia Lidora's description of the planet, but the naming caught on in everyday vernacular for its brevity, tact, and lingual beauty. Over the next few centuries, young asari began lengthening their social introductions with an announcement of their immediate heritage, in reference to Nysia's work, thus communicating to their new acquaintances a value in art and literature, which was also a sign of wealth and societal importance.

As that colloquial component of language was adopted by neighboring regions, extending even as far as the central isles of Ianthe [eye-ANTH], the introductions became so common amongst middle-to-high-class individuals that it obtained an aspect of redundancy. Soon, many maidens either dropped the extra addition entirely, or began shortening the cumbersome trend to a more easily spoken sequence, only containing their first names followed by a quick and concise 'daughter of' whichever family house they hailed from [which were often abbreviated in the first place to accommodate for the lengthy title]. Consequentially, people began referring to them as they had introduced themselves in conversation and in documentation; thus their prefixes grew to an attachment often kept into adulthood, and eventually passed onto children who would then preserve the new version of their family name.

The evolution of asari language is best described as based on the attitudes of society as a whole, gradually influencing styles of speech and writing as emotional connotations develop into more distinct, polished descriptions of concepts. T'Essia lost the brief lacuna between the first syllables in favor of a rolling, cohesive, more elegant 'Tessia', whose modern form 'Thessia' was popularized by academics and writers of [4,000 BCE], altered on the grounds that the insertion of the particular, faint sound produced what those intellectuals called a 'breath' or 'life' quality; homage to the land their ancestors walked for ages, sustained only on the growing flora and fauna.

The dissolution of most surname prefixes, save for the prevailing 'T', happened after the first contact between the asari and the salarians. To combat the language barrier separating the two races, many individuals from both peoples worked together to learn each other's languages and teach others so trade and relations could begin to flourish. Most asari texts regarding that era refer to an incident during which an asari described herself to a salarian as a 'daughter of Thessia' [to convey where she was born, as opposed to an asari colony], using her own regional dialect which employed usage of the 'T' prefix, resulting in 'T'Thessia'. The salarian translator, familiar with his own traditions of naming which include geographical and family origins, assumed that 'Thessia' was a component of her name. An adaptation of the salarian naming system was assimilated into asari culture as a result of the famous miscommunication; many asari with prefixed surnames altered them to 'T's in reference to Thessia's oldest known name, T'Essia, regardless of whether they were born on their homeworld or not. Once the new trend found its way into mainstream society, most asari families with prefixes followed suit with the intentions of remaining a part of their collective people and their respectable consensus, to be represented in the developing galactic community.

Naturally, modern transportation allowed for mass migration, effectively dispersing the 'prefixed' demographic about asari space more equally than ever before.

Over the many centuries since the intercultural amendment's first initiation, recent census data only finds a meager few thousand out of all asari having a prefix other than the conforming 'T'. Notable lasting bloodlines include the families N'Yiria, N'Vani, and N'Dara from Thessia's northeastern region of Kynias [KIN-yas]; and the R'Gria and R'Saita from Serrice. Motivations for not adopting the modern 'T' [daughter of Thessia] into their family names remain unknown, although many have suggested the reasons were based on preserving a well-known name or to honor a prominent ancestor who also shared that surname. Statistically, the vast majority of asari families with exotic prefixes were found to be [95% of the time] upper-class, and those who are remain among the wealthiest people on Thessia.

ATTACHMENT: [Read More On Asari Surname Prefixes], [Sources]

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* * *

:::

* * *

Three exceptional agents stood at attention as their superior prepared to address them. All were quiet, patient, and as resolute as statues—icons of duty, protectors of the galaxy at any and all costs, and holders of occupations that many people could only fantasize about. They were the elite few, bound by no laws save those directly established by the Council, who still bent them or turned a blind eye to many actions that would normally be classified as criminal.

At long last, the councilor lifted her gaze from a trio of datapads lain on her desk, all filled with each Spectre's report from their last missions. She was not pleased. Although they had certainly employed noble amounts of effort in the investigation, as they always did, the results were curiously non-reflective of it. When the reports were read together, and when an attempt was made to connect each account to create a cohesive model of true events, the product was confusing at best. They contradicted one another to _obscene_ degrees. One told of more Omegan ships entering Citadel space from the Sahrabarik system bearing Alunigen B2 in their cargo. Another claimed those named ships hadn't even passed through the Sahrabarik relay at all. And the final of the three spoke of possible routes within the Attican Traverse, seemingly isolated from the Terminus Systems entirely.

Tevos softly exhaled, trying to contain her exasperation. "The intelligence you've gathered is... rather incomprehensible when compared," she said, choosing her words carefully. The facial expressions of all three Spectres remained stoic. Perhaps they had already realized the vagueness and inadequacy of their obtained data, and had anticipated the councilor's reaction. "I will not declare your efforts as a failure, however. Because of this... collection of contradictions, we can assume that somewhere within this entanglement of accounts hides a shred of truth. I do not jest, so don't chortle, Spectre Neora. Neither am I giving any of you consolation; nothing of that nature. I'm quite serious." She paused, adjusting the position of one datapad in particular. "For example, in the case of ships coming in from Omega. Spectre Neora's report confirms this, while Spectre Lerath's denies it. Both are greatly detailed accounts. Therefore, we can assume that one of you witnessed something being deliberately staged, and the other likely saw the unaltered version of what is actually transpiring. Another safe assumption to be made—which we all probably have by this point—is that these people ardently do not wish to be found."

"I have a suggestion," said Lerath, the sole salarian of the group.

"Go ahead."

"It occurred to me when you speculated that one of us witnessed something being staged, undoubtedly to throw us off course," he said. "If this is true, they're following our movements. They're keeping a keen eye out for Spectres, and they know that we've been appointed to this task despite its high level of classification. We're operating too overtly. As _Spectres_. We need to improve our cover; stop using the ships we usually use, carry fake IDs, anything we can to stay under their radar." He exchanged quick glances with the two asari Spectres standing on either side of him, seeking their agreement. "We probably don't realize that as soon as we come into close proximity with a potential information source, they shut their mouths after seeing our armor, our weapons, even when we aren't flying Citadel colors. We're obviously people of wealth. Importance. And anyone carrying such a profile is not going to be trusted."

"You think we'd have better luck hitting the streets instead of tapping communication lines of suspects?" Spectre Tela Vasir questioned him, sounding somewhat dubious. "You want to start relying on the vagaries of rumors?"

"We need to start assimilating, I mean," the salarian clarified. "Speaking to suspects as if we were fellow dealers or interested in procuring drugs for our own usage. Stings, essentially." He returned his wide, alert eyes back to the councilor.

"Are there an abundance of users on Omega?" Councilor Tevos inquired. "Perhaps you can start there. Speak with people; ask them where you can access the drugs for, presumably, your own interests."

"We'd hit a dead end pretty early on with that strategy," Neora shook her head. "I highly doubt the dealers are going to let us get any further. They gain nothing by revealing the identities of the people they're obtaining the Lucen Dust from. Rather, they could be murdered for compromising that sort of information. They won't take that risk."

"If we can find a big-time dealer," said Tela, "we can find their source. It's only a simple matter of shadowing them around, getting into their private files and correspondences. Easier said than done, of course. They'll probably be well-protected. But at least this approach puts us in a better position than what we're in right now."

The councilor nodded, thinking for a moment. "Neora and Lerath. You were both in Sahrabarik during the last few days, monitoring communications and keeping an eye on Omega's activities. How is Omega faring? Has there been large economic growth, or possibly new rising factions? If Aria T'Loak is not our culprit, a rival syndicate might be. What have you been hearing?"

Lerath supplied his own information first. "Well, concerning new factions, there was one. The White Crests. However, while I was in Sahrabarik, there was some uproar about them being almost completely eradicated. Apparently, Aria T'Loak's syndicate waged war against them in the Kenzo District and successfully took the territory. That's what I gathered. So, I suppose they're ruled out, more or less. Aside from that, Omega's been in slightly more chaos than usual. There's been an abundance of power-shifts amongst the smaller factions, and Aria T'Loak's administration suffered a few assassinations."

"Really?" Tevos asked, the blankness of her expression remaining unchanged. How peculiar was that news; when she last spoke to Aria only about a week before, she had seemed so... complacent. She had been sitting on a mountain of pride and ongoing success, left completely unperturbed to continue enjoying the reaped rewards of her incisive administrating. Aria was so proud, so dismissive toward idea of the Citadel's accusations being a legitimate cause for worry. _Nothing_ had seemed to cause her worry. Had those assassinations disturbed her comforts?

"Yes. Three, if I recall correctly. But after the fall of the White Crests, they ceased. It would appear as though that group was responsible."

"I see," she said. "What of you, Neora? Have you heard similar things?"

"Yes ma'am," Neora replied. "Virtually identical accounts. I gathered a bit more on... urban levels, so to speak. Civilians, if you could call them that. With all the shuffling around of territory, sympathizers to certain groups are rampantly being forced to adapt to the new controlling powers over their districts, or to relocate altogether. Many are partaking in violent retaliations, but most have been put down. The retaliations are not exclusive to any group. They're widespread and found in many different districts. Civil unrest, I suppose. These terms are peculiar when applied to Omega, however, because civil unrest seems to be a way of life out there. I use it in this case because these actions are more... political. Again, that word does not feel quite right..." She paused to recollect her trail of thought. "Anyway, I think Omega's populace, at this point, could be described as becoming polarized. Either vehemently in favor of certain ruling powers, such as Aria T'Loak's dominating syndicate, or vehemently against her. Let's see; I say the statistics are roughly—this is within her own territories—approximately seventy percent in her favor. This is likely because of repercussions that come with procuring districts still filled with denizens who may or may not welcome the encroachment of a different crimelord. They skew the statistic." She gave an illustrative shrug.

"So in other words, Aria T'Loak has been annexing districts too quickly," the councilor nodded in understanding, diverting her gaze for a moment to ponder. Aria's greed was as prevalent as ever, it seemed. Occasionally Tevos wondered about that—whether Aria had contrived a sustainable system, or countermeasure, to contain backlash resulting from her aggressive ambitions and campaigns. Aria was a very thorough person, so she must have known exactly what she was doing. Whatever was currently happening in her territory was likely temporary, just a period of inconvenience before the inevitable rebound back into her usual glory and complete reign over her districts. Tevos finally spoke again. "Do you think the Alunigen B2 suppliers could be using Omega as a conduit; taking advantage of all its current disarray?" she asked, directing her question at them all at once.

"It's a fair possibility," offered Lerath. "...But I suppose we'll find out over the next few weeks."

* * *

:::

* * *

Familiar music filled the air, traveling through the lounge, reverberating into the chests of its occupants and making their blood run hotter within the joviality already exuded. Three days had passed since the seizure of the Kenzo District, and three days had passed since the last assassination. The massive correlation inspired merriment—celebration, primarily by those who had participated well in the battles, and now drank and laughed in the lower area of Aria's guarded lounge as a reward for their contributions.

Their boss—their glorified leader—however, was not among them. She was working, seated on her usual perch in the upper lounge, the balcony overlooking her beloved club, having invited a few select businessmen into her company to partake in a discussion and eventual deal brokering. The Kenzo District, now entirely under Aria T'Loak's control, was being systematically purged of White Crest supporters and partnerships and now yearned for replacements to fill the vacuum of its former economic status. The Traverse businessmen in Aria's lounge—an old salarian, a turian, and a volus—were to be the first to receive partial ownership of the companies and property Aria had recently procured, which they would manage to her preferences and share in a generous portion of the profits. Aria's proposal, as it stood with myriad benefits such as posting her thugs in their managed areas for protection, was undeniably alluring. She was virtually throwing credits at them. And the only condition was that they, when conducting their usual business in the Attican Traverse, carry out her whims, invest in what she desired, and to bring more prominent greedy men and women onto Omega to be introduced to Aria's extensive networks.

As she outlined for them the distribution of ownership and general business models, a roar of laughter found its way into their midst, originating in the lounge below. Aria and the businessmen spared the tables a glance, investigating what subject had been of enough hilarity to disturb their conversation. Locating the source was an easy task; a drunk batarian, the center of attention, was in the middle of a riveting story.

"We came from everywhere!" he said, waving an arm in an arching motion to illustrate. "All sides! Buildings and streets and we swarmed the damned district! The Crests fled from us like _irus'ga_, like… uh, what do you call it…? Insects, pests! We hunted them, like the seasonal culling of _nelruk_ herds! It was a slaughter! And then…" He suddenly staggered back one step, rousing more laughs as he hung onto the drink in his hand. "And then, when we arrived at their hideout, some shithole warehouse… we had Aria at our front, you see. They had the place heavily guarded, but we fucking tore through their lines like demons! Loren Enarius was waiting inside, frightened like a child! Angry like a child…! Aria T'Loak went after him! And when she was done with him… his neck was gushing like a geyser! Like… Like a freshly-opened bottle of Erszbat sparkling wine…!"

Another round of laughter erupted to life, engulfing the mercenaries and thugs seated around the batarian man. They reclined in their chairs, holding their hands to their heads at the man's colorful recount and raising their glasses to yet another version of the bloody tale. Aria, who had been listening, nearly smirked. But she withheld it. She was still conducting important business agreements, and could not afford to be distracted. Instead, she called out to them, her distinctive voice capturing their attention almost instantly.

"Malak," she said to the man. "How much have you had to drink?"

"Uh…"

At his inability to recall, the thugs chuckled. Aria nodded. "Someone call this man a cab. He fought well in the Kenzo District. Help him out."

They obeyed her behest. Having mitigated the uproar, Aria turned back to the businessmen seated with her, became comfortable once more, and continued. "Where was I? Oh yes—the transaction should be kept off Traverse books until further notice. We'll do the record keeping here. Once we've got everything properly established on Omega, you can link everything with the Traverse and get all the appropriate licenses for that. Do we have a deal?"

"Absolutely," said the volus. The other two concurred.

"Excellent," said Aria, reaching for the drink she had set upon a glass table in front of them. She looked into the liquid, into the horosk's radiant color, and indulged by bringing the glass to her lips and downing a generous amount. This variant was a light blue—a hue very reminiscent of Lucen Dust, she mused. And then, her thoughts wandered. To the Citadel. To Councilor Tevos and that unanticipated resurgence of the drug whose smuggling was still presumably linked to Omega. She wondered how the investigation was proceeding, as her own had yet to yield any concrete results. It would only be matter of days until something came up, for although the galaxy was vast, secrets were hard to keep for long. Someone out there knew; or someone out there knew _of someone_ who knew. Sooner or later, a segment of that chain would be discovered, and the only thing left to do would be aggressively following it to the source. She glanced over at her guests, wondering if, perhaps, they had heard anything in the Traverse. "By the way," she said, immediately drawing their eyes in her direction, "I suppose you've all heard about Alunigen B2 making a return to Council space?"

"Oh yes," replied the salarian. "It's been quite the topic for discussion and speculation. I don't suppose you're responsible? Ah, a useless question. Even if you were I wouldn't be told of it." Seeing a small smirk appearing on Aria's face, he nodded. "But yes; if I'm not mistaken, most fingers are pointing at Omega nevertheless. No one seems to know the supplier, or those who do are being incredibly tight-lipped about it. It's probably coming from some remote world owned by a rich fellow or lady bored enough to take on a new hobby."

The turian beside him gave an amused exhale. "That would certainly suit the circumstances. Personally, I don't care in the least bit about drug trafficking, not until a Spectre made an appearance on a few Traverse worlds the other day. We don't get them often, but when we do… It sends everyone scrambling away. They're a hindrance to business with their snooping around, demanding to see manifests, searching imported and exported cargo… Whenever Spectres show up, we generally waste an entire work day because we dedicate all our time to properly presenting ourselves or hiding things. You never know when they're going to file a report against someone. The Council claims to not interfere with Traverse enterprises, but that's bullshit. If they have a good enough reason, they'll send some people in and sabotage whoever they don't like. I've seen it before. We're all under their _conditional_ protection."

Aria reclined in her seat, observing them while arranging a method to benefit all parties present in her lounge. After a moment spent within her mind, she spoke again. "I can get some of that pressure off of you," she told them. "While I continue to find the producers and smugglers, I can also have a little chat with one of the councilors. I'll see if I can persuade them to lay off, because if this investigation goes on too long, it might start suffocating my agendas out here, and we can't have that." She downed the remainder of her drink.

After a long pause, the volus returned to their former discussion. "So… how soon can we start repurposing these buildings?" he asked. "Is the Kenzo District… safe enough? There isn't a resistance who might try attacking us…?"

"My control over the Kenzo District is absolute," Aria replied. "So you don't need to worry about that. When I acquire territory, I make sure I properly have it in my possession. At the slightest hint of trouble coming your way, be it civil unrest or otherwise, all you need to do is alert someone and they will take care of it for you. I can assure you that." She placed her empty glass on the table. "The Kenzo District is now part of my expanding domain… And in my domain, people who cause me trouble do not last long."

Her closing statement was as powerful as it was irrefutable. It embodied everything about her—the self-crowned ruler of Omega, the land of the lawless, the fortress of crime and death—and presented to them a sense of just how high above Aria remained seated in her throne over the hostile fortress. But… she had not tamed Omega. No, that was not her way; Aria thrived in lawlessness, deciding to never intervene in anyone's affairs unless they affected her. She let her subjects run wild, free, and yet… somehow, she still reigned over them. This could only be true for a single reason: that Aria had not simply risen to become the most powerful person on Omega, but she had _become _Omega – or she had _been_ Omega even before her first arrival.

Omega's soul had found an organic body to serve as its symbiotic groundskeeper, its ambassador into the world of the living. Untamed and as apathetic as the harsh universe cradling their fragile existences. And like her presence on the station, Aria T'Loak was absolute. She was the strange event of Omega experiencing itself.

"You," she said, pointing to the nearest guard. The batarian man had almost become a permanent fixture in her lounge over the many past months. "Go get us some more drinks. Elasa will do, and make sure to get something dextro for our turian guest."

He left at once. As Aria awaited his return, the businessmen entered a casual discussion about the stock market. She only partially listened, preferring to instead entertain herself with thoughts of other tasks needing to be completed by the end of the day.

When their drinks arrived, the guard set down a small tray on the table and delivered each one to its owner, taking special care to identify the dextro-friendly one by a red band around the glass before placing it in front of the turian man. Aria sipped her drink, savoring the strong, yet almost sweet taste of the Thessian alcohol—one of the few things she openly praised the homeworld for. Their drinks weren't usually as strong as some made popular by other races, but at least they made up for that weakness in taste. She relaxed, sipping at her drink over the next few minutes. She was content, lounging comfortably in her usual spot overlooking all that went on in her club, surrounding herself with the spoils of her hard work over the past few days, still unmatched by any opposing power, still crowned as queen.

She felt the familiar warmth of alcohol in her blood, diffusing throughout. It was a fine luxury, a superb, self-indulgent reward; a slight, languid aspect seeping into her thoughts, just enough to put her at ease. Although her investigation teams were still trying to piece together the mysterious circumstances under which Olat Dar'nerah was murdered, at least order had been restored as of late. That was satisfactory for the moment. As the businessmen chatted, she crossed her legs, lending them her half-attention again, and the occasional input whenever she felt it necessary. Small talk was useless, pointless. She only humored them because she didn't want to scare off her new connections, tolerance also aided by the temperament-altering effects of her drink.

The warmth permeating throughout her muscles was apparent now. But it was… different. Sharper, becoming a minor ache, resembling fatigue after a long period of exertion.

She shifted her position to regain comfort, but as she did, she noticed something odd about the arm involved with the motion. It had trembled, suddenly losing strength for a split second, accompanied with a bite of pain. Vexed, Aria lifted her hand, feeling the stinging ache again while examining the appendage. As she held it before her face, her eyes traced the delicate movements of her fingers. They were involuntarily shaking against her will, even as she attempted to calm the digits.

And the illness arrived. It came in a dreadful wave of heat and nausea, washing over her, then again with her heart's every palpitation. Each was more intense than the last, soon coercing shallow breaths between normal ones, ever-growing in prevalence until she found that her lungs no longer permitted expansion to their normal capacity. Her eyes were widening. She looked down into the glass still held in hand, rotating it as dexterously as possible, and sank into grim realization. There, on the inner surface of the glass was a barely-detectable, colorless residue, only noticed by its disparate reflection of light. She touched it, coating her fingertip with a clear substance which was easily rolled between her quivering forefinger and thumb as she analyzed it.

_Betrayal._ The word flooded her mind, ceaselessly echoing cold and unsympathetic, like death.

Aria was on her feet at once, dropping her chalice of poison to the floor as she rose, and was assaulted by a bolt of pure agony viciously surging throughout her entire body. She lingered there for a second, suspended in a glove of pain perfectly tailored to her body's dimensions, and her eyes were wide and empty, staring directly forward as if they had abruptly lost their sight. There were many stares upon her, questioning her disconcerted appearance and peculiar actions. Guilty and deceitful stares, owned by traitors to the queen; treasonous villains.

The guard who delivered their drinks had disappeared. She was lost, unable to find in her field of vision a single ally who she, now that disloyalty had been exhibited, could trust with her endangered state. She needed to get away from them. Survival instincts branded them all as threats, as enemies. And so she sprinted, down the steps of the lounge while enduring the pain piercing into every muscle as she ran, staggered, and lurched forward in her manic struggle to live beyond that day. Down the fiery halls of her own palace she flew, blood coursing with impending doom. She ignored the exclamations of her guards as she passed them and those of confused patrons whom she brutally pushed out of the way while fleeing to the relative seclusion of a restroom.

When she rushed past the opening door, the floor's uniform incandescence of angry crimson light continued to bathe her, and though Afterlife's music had become fainter, its low, brooding thuds still bled through. She burst into the first stall and the door was sent banging against the wall from her forceful, urgent entrance. Without another moment wasted, Aria dropped to her knees and rammed her fingers down her throat.

* * *

:::

* * *

They hadn't precisely finished unpacking yet, but a break was deemed harmless. The four commandos helping Iaera and Liselle safely move to another apartment were stationed with them for the remainder of the week anyway on Aria's decree; they weren't going anywhere any time soon, so everyone tasked with bringing the dwelling to comfortable living conditions could do so at their leisure.

Upon arrival, Liselle had frowned at the apartment. It was an obvious downgrade, evident by a broken pipe beneath the kitchen's sink, a few old stains on the carpeting, and a ventilation system which incorporated fans mounted in the upper walls, keeping air flowing freshly through the abode, albeit at the expense of being forced to listen to the slowly-turning blades' annoying, monotonous hum during the night. The commandos had pledged to help fix up everything they could, fortunately.

Liselle wasn't displeased exclusively at their living state, but more so at the fact that their move _had_ been for naught. The very evening they settled in and began unloading their belongings, Aria had called bearing the news of not only neutralizing their number one suspect, but also the acquisition of the Kenzo District in its entirety, thus uniting it with what fragmented pieces she already controlled. And then the assassinations completely stopped. Yet Liselle still had to complete the move and remain at their new address until further notice, for her mother's paranoia often transcended her own victories. It was nearly a joke as well, that Aria had obtained a brand new home in which she could further expand her industrious enterprises, while her daughter had been hastily relocated from an apartment she had become particularly fond of over the short month spent living within it, and into a much less desirable one.

Of course, Liselle recognized her frustrations as being relatively petty in light of what could have happened if someone had actually targeted her, or if Aria had failed to stop the threat. So she held her tongue, respected her mother's judgment, and proceeded to settle into the apartment without a single expressed complaint.

Her biotic mentor Zuria had arrived the previous day to stay with them. That at the very least brought Liselle a little joy in the whole troublesome ordeal. Zuria was a matron of almost six centuries; experienced, talented, but most importantly, trusted by Aria. From what Aria once told Liselle, Zuria had been one of her first allies gained after arriving on Omega approximately two hundred years ago, and had fought alongside her in many battles. But as the years went on, Zuria's interest in being one of Aria's lieutenants—therefore expected to lead countless firefights and sieges—steadily deteriorated. She was tired, she had told Aria. Tired of Omega's perpetual war incessantly following her until death, but because she remained unequivocally loyal to Aria, she requested a different position. And so she was reassigned to jobs involving intelligence for quite a while, until one day receiving a new offer from her long-time boss. Liselle always smiled whenever she remembered Zuria sharing her recount of the brief conversation she had with Aria almost fifty years ago:

"_Zuria,"_ Aria had said, _"How would you like to give someone private biotic lessons?"_

"_That actually sounds like a nice change of pace. But who in the world is getting your—and my—special treatment?"_

"_My daughter."_

"…_Aria, what the fuck?"_

And Zuria, as deadly as she was, had always been good-humored. She was humble, easily approached, and though Liselle got the impression that she was a little sad with her life, Zuria had gladly accepted the long-term job Aria offered her. Now, after decades, she and Liselle were placidly seated on the floor of a bedroom. Boxes were stacked in the corners, still mostly filled with possessions as a product of their laziness, and between them both laid an arrangement of cards. They were playing a game Zuria had taught her years ago; an old Thessian strategy game dating back millennia, simply given the name 'Nekyia'. According to Zuria's explanation, the morbid name was suiting, as the game was a rudimentary simulation of war tactic based on a radically hierarchical society. Apparently, almost immediately after the ancient inception of the game, a stigma had been attached to whoever played it—they were often called 'warmongers' and were branded as morally depraved.

Zuria often joked about that. She said it was ironic, that as much as she grew tired of war Nekyia remained her favorite game, proven by her ownership of a physical deck of cards, all printed in high quality with vibrant colors and durable lamination.

When she was younger, Liselle would often ask to see the cards so she could lay them out and marvel at them. They were beautiful and intricate, each containing a romanticized work of art depicting ancient asari in different societal roles. She used to spend hours beholding them, eyes roaming over their lavish robes and gemstones, goblets encrusted with jewels, spears dressed in beads and animal teeth, and the elegant carvings in the bows of archaic archers. One could hardly tell the cards belonged to a game of war—but that was the fantastic essence of it all, Zuria had said; an asari's deadliest weapon, aside from her biotics, was her cunning. Her secrets, her deception, and her connections.

With that general concept grasped, teaching Liselle the rules of the game was easy. The deck could be split into two identical halves, one for each player, and they would place five cards from ten originally drawn face-down in a neat row, symbolizing their actively warfaring lines. At every turn, a player was given a choice of four different moves, called by thematic names: 'retreat, 'espionage', 'substitution', or 'assassination'. The game was over when one player lost their three 'high' cards: the mystic, the Ardat-Yakshi, and the monarch. The hardest part, Liselle had found, was memorizing which cards defeated which, as there were 'low' cards that could successfully defeat 'high' ones. And of course, Liselle had tragically lost countless times against her mentor for years before finally securing her first triumph a few decades ago. Her wins were still nowhere as near as abundant as Zuria's, but Nekyia was enjoyable, often required hours to complete a single game, and was therefore a delightful way to pass time during the frequent spells of limbo plaguing Liselle's daily life.

"Has your mother been by lately?" Zuria asked her as she successfully murdered Liselle's poor priestess with a warlord.

The maiden frowned at the loss, selecting a replacement for her casualty from her hand before reaching over to draw from her deck again. "…Lately…?" she repeated, her attention mainly invested in their game.

"Yes, lately. Before I arrived."

After the words clicked in her head, Liselle replied, "Yes, she came by the day before, to make sure we were settling in all right. She only stayed about an hour, though. Espionage." She pointed to a card lain on the floor, and after flipping it over, was given sight of a huntress. "…She asked about my studies and training. Which are, as usual, coming along decently."

"Decently? Your studies must be in a horrific state, then."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, since the two combined creates an average, which you described as 'decent', then your studies must be the factor pulling it down. After all, with a mentor like me, you should be doing no less than excellent."

Liselle snorted.

After spending a few moments smiling at her own joke, Zuria asked the maiden a different, though relevant question. "How is she, by the way? How's Aria been doing? Especially after all these recent incidents."

She shrugged, wishing Zuria would at least make her move between bouts of conversation. "...No change to her usual disposition. Not anything I could see, anyway." She looked up, meeting her mentor's dark blue eyes. "You know, she acted like she usually does while visiting. Sort of distant, like she's saying one thing but thinking about something else…" When her gaze drifted back to her hand of cards, she felt a tinge of dolefulness. "She doesn't come by very often anymore. I understand that she's very busy of course, but you know… I still miss her sometimes. I wish she'd stay long enough for us to talk about something less… quantitative. No more 'status report' tones. Just an actual, genuine conversation."

Zuria said nothing. Instead, she watched Liselle become distracted and begin to stare blankly at a spot on the floor between them.

Liselle was no longer thinking about her mother. The sound of the fan in the wall ceaselessly rotating had stalled her thought process. It wasn't a buzz, a drone, nor even a steady whirl, but a patter of faint squeals as the blades gradually spun, almost a counter of passing seconds. The more she focused on the irritating sound, the louder it became, heightening her awareness of the moment and extending each unit of time to unbearably long intervals, dropping her into a torturous, purgatorial state of mind—the complete absence of the entire world save for the insufferable fan uttering its low murmurs, whispering the same word over and over again; oblivion.

She wished to tear it straight from the wall.

* * *

:::

* * *

Aria could purge no more from her stomach. She merely gagged, chest heaving, lurching in vain while her skin was pricked by the ghosts of many needles constantly being driven deeper into her flesh. Whatever poison had reached her blood was screaming through her veins, wracking her body with violent chills and impairing her senses. She was reeling, vision spotted by bright mosaics of silver and gold stars; during her desperate struggle to keep her balance within the spinning world, Aria noticed something out of the corner of her eye. Movement—the sight of boots in a stall at the very end of the row. Thick black soles had shifted their placement, and soon, steps were taken. Aria weakly pushed herself out of her own stall, feeling the searing pain ignite anew. After adamantly dragging her body over a short distance, she managed to prop herself up against the metal wall, oriented in the direction of the fellow occupant in the restroom.

The stall's door opened with a light creak, allowing the owner of the boots to emerge. Aria looked upon them, but only saw a swirling silhouette of black, dappled by many nodules of pale green light set symmetrically along the limbs, the chest, the neck, like many eyes glaring at her shivering body. Whoever it was remained there, hands neatly folded in front of their hips, content with merely observing her within the sinister red haze.

She continued to monitor them while simultaneously attempting to regulate her shallowly drawn breaths. When she tried to pull herself to her feet, Aria was immediately stuck down again by debilitating agony. The needles in her muscles had become knives, biting all the way to the bone and mercilessly carving, as if being sadistically twisted about, with every movement she made. She was imprisoned in that spot, suspended in a paralyzing web woven from the center of her body outward, strung through fibers of muscle and delicate walls of organs, ensnaring her in an inescapable thicket of pain. A light sheen of sweat had risen on her skin.

There was a low thud from deep within the restroom, indeterminable in origin. Another, this time metallic in nature; and then, a sudden bang as the grating over a vent was thrust from its place, flying outward and crashing loudly against a stall's door before clattering to the floor. From the vent another person skillfully dropped, clad in the same black covered with many blurry green eyes. They glanced directly at Aria before joining their clone and assuming a similar idling stance.

The main door opened. Aria turned her head, tightly clenching her jaw at the dizzying pain it brought her, and saw the third member of the apparent trio strutting into the restroom. The asari was in the middle of pulling a dark mask over her head, and by the time she had finished, the door had shut behind her and sealed with a familiar red light appearing over the lock.

Aria stared up at her wavering, distorted image as she neared, still struggling to breathe while overtaken by periodic, involuntary shivers. There was a ringing inside her head, ceaseless and flat. She managed to breathlessly address her company. "You'd better leave while you can… My guards saw me running here. They're going to… come after me. They'll be here any second to kill you…"

The other asari reached her, standing tall over Aria's weakened form, and her voice came slightly muffled by the material over her mouth. "Yes, I suppose we should be worried," she said, looking down at her through two ominous, clear circles fitted into the eyes of the mask. The green orbs of light dotting her black suit joined her gaze, casting deathly glows upon Aria's jacket and exposed stretches of glistening skin. "If they were coming at all, that is. It really is too bad…" She lowered a hand to Aria's head, harshly digging her fingers into the rivets of her crest and pulling her back. Aria gritted her teeth at the pain it invoked, snarling at her with as much rage as she could currently muster. The assassin continued to speak. "It's too bad, knowing that the people you surround yourself with in the lounge—the people you trust most—are just as dangerous to you as the people you've never trusted at all. Because someone you thought loyal to you is standing outside right now, watching the door for us, telling everyone he's acting on orders, that everything's under control… Lieutenant Anikot has that sort of authority, doesn't he, now that the holes in the chain of command have been refilled…? He was also quite interested in the idea of managing the Gozu District after we took it from you."

Aria looked up at her with wide, hateful eyes, but her message of pure ire was cut short. Her head was suddenly yanked further back, exposing the column of her throat, against which she felt the cold kiss of metal. Aria was still, albeit unable to contain the constant paroxysms her body had succumbed to as a product of physical shock.

"I'm sure you understand," said the assassin, her voice sounding unnerving gentle, almost sickeningly so. "After all, this is how Omega has functioned since its birth long ago. Regimes rise, regimes fall. It's the natural balance of things—evolution, as you might say. The weak are weeded out and replaced by stronger leaders. And your time too has come; your reign is at its end, and we're taking Omega back from you. Cleaning up the mess you've left behind. So tell me…" She pressed the blade into her throat, applying just enough pressure to draw a narrow line of violet. "…Does Aria T'Loak fear death?"

Aria said nothing, chest delicately quivering with every strained breath. She stared up into the soulless dark circles over her captor's eyes, unable to see them through the red sea and the deep shadows malevolently cast around.

"What do you fear?" the asari asked her, searching Aria's eyes for a vestige of fright. But the pale blue irises did not betray their owner; they were proud, wild, displaying a maelstrom trapped in dormancy beneath—evinced by their brightness, their lividness, viciously glinting in spite of crippling illness. "Do you fear the notion of defeat? Do you fear dying this way; having your throat slit, waiting until you slip away without so much as a whimper? What a pathetic demise…"

The pirate queen's fierce eyes remained unwavering, never diverting from her enemy's ghoulish masked face. Her throat was overwhelmed by tremors, inadvertently pressing into the blade's edge with every labored gasp for breath.

"Tell me, are you scared?"

* * *

:::

* * *

"I want to attempt an assassination," said Zuria, flipping over her heiress card.

Liselle pressed her lips together in a thin line, dreading the result of her mentor's turn. "Okay, go ahead."

She pointed at Liselle's left-most card laid on the floor, provoking a sound of immense exasperation from the girl as the card was turned over to reveal its identity. There in all her glory was the monarch, seated upon a magnificent throne, glint with shimmering gold paint, clad in robes of long and luscious materials—rich purple in color.

"Nooo," groaned Liselle, realizing that her monarch was her final 'high' card. Her hypothetical state had been overrun by the enemy, and she had lost the game. She sank to the floor from her sitting position, coming to lie down on her side in a frustrated heap of ruin.

Zuria chuckled at the girl's theatrical interpretation of watching one's empire crumble. She looked at the cards which had determined the game, pensively gazing at the familiar artwork. She took one into her hand, studying it for a long time before setting it back down. "You know, Liselle, this particular card—the monarch—always reminded me of your mother. Not just because of the name… But look. She's got the same eyes."

Liselle pushed herself up from her supposed grave on the floor, supporting her weight on her arms as she examined the card in closer detail.

"That same cold blue," Zuria elaborated. "Like yours as well, obviously, but your eyes are different than your mother's. Although you both share the same pigmentation, hers are… a little harsh; like the stab of winter. Oh, you haven't felt 'winter', have you? Imagine a cold wind, chilling you to the bone, and ice beneath your feet. But I digress; have you ever gotten a strange feeling whenever exchanging a stare with Aria, this tiny feeling of uneasiness that slowly grows the longer she looks at you?"

Liselle smiled, then nodded.

"This woman, the monarch, always gave me a bit of that same feeling."

The maiden continued to examine the monarch card, lying comfortably on her stomach. She understood what Zuria meant; the monarch's eyes were icy and lofty, exuding pure authority as she lounged amid all her decadent riches. Peerless and all-seeing. Utterly fearless. As the connection between the monarch card and Aria burned a permanent place in her memory, leaving her from that point on forever unable to view the card without being visited by thoughts of her mother, a query developed. It was a simple question, something Liselle had always wondered, but never found the voice to ask. So at last she looked up again, meeting the eyes of her mentor once more. "Zuria?"

"Yes?"

"Do you fear my mother?"

A crease formed in Zuria's brow, but she did her best to answer as honestly as possible. "Well, I'd rather say that I respect her immensely. But in a situation, say, where she's threatening my life as the result of undesired behavior on my part? Certainly. Of course I'd fear her. Any sensible person would." She paused a moment. "Do you fear her?"

Liselle hesitated. She seriously contemplated the question—her own question—redirected to herself. She recalled times when Aria had expressed her displeasure with something she did, whether it was reprehension for defiance or otherwise. Sometimes her mother had grabbed her arm, pulled her close, and spoke in a terrifying, low voice, carefully outlining exactly what misconduct needed to stop. As a child, Liselle often cried after that mode of discipline, but she wasn't sure if the tears were from fear so much as they were from knowing that her mother was angry and disappointed with her. And when Liselle was in her thirties, she recalled Aria whacking her during a few heated arguments when she became overly impudent, but never hard enough to actually injure her. Liselle would never point it out to her, but her mother had quite a large soft side for the people she was fond of. Well, it was large when held in comparison to the treatment she gave people who she _disliked_, at least.

But one truth was drawn from all of the memories she resurrected: Aria would never intentionally cause her significant harm. Liselle was safely within a category whose comforts would be shared by no other soul. She transcended the gauge Aria consulted to determine someone's worth. Loyalty, intelligence, usefulness in battle—all those things were irrelevant, because Aria's love overpowered all other categories combined. She had nothing to fear.

"No," Liselle finally gave her answer, which Zuria acknowledged with a single nod. However, another question formed in her mind's forefront, one she had also speculated about for years. "…Do you think _she_ fears anything?" she asked quietly.

Zuria's face was overcome by a perplexed expression again. "I don't know about that. I'm not too sure any of us ever will, but…" She paused for a moment, as if cautiously stitching her next sentence together. "I have this small feeling that she fears you more than you fear her." She shrugged one shoulder. "Although those are both small amounts of fear, relatively..."

Liselle furrowed her brow in confusion. "I don't understand. Why would she be scared of me?"

"Well… Aria invests a lot in you. Time, effort, her emotional attachment. She doesn't give those things easily, as everyone knows. And you, Liselle, are a rare phenomenon in her life who will never be cut off from these things, unlike any other relationship she'll probably ever have. She can't change it. It's something she really can't control; the fact that she loves you. But _you_…" Zuria stopped again, perhaps wondering if it was wise to keep speaking her thoughts. However, she carried on. "But you, on the other hand, are more… more of a variable. You're young, and who you are—who you will become in adulthood—is yet to be seen. Of course, I think you and your mother will get along just fine for centuries to come, but there's still a chance that it may not turn out that way. Your mother keeps a lot of secrets from you. You already know that; I'm not telling you anything new. But some of these secrets are very dark. Very terrible. And even Aria, as meticulous and clever as she may be, will not be able to hide everything if you decide to go looking. Secrets have a way of coming to the surface eventually, and when that happens… you might come to resent her for some of the things she's done. If that happens, Aria faces a major problem. It will not be her love that has disappeared, but _yours_. That can spell destruction if your relationship ever becomes feudal. Because, as we both know…" Zuria lifted the card she had used to defeat Liselle, then dropped it onto the monarch. "…The heiress usurps the queen."

The maiden grew dourly silent as she watched Zuria retrieve her cards from the floor, neatly stacking them one by one into her hand. As the deck progressed from a humble few cards to its former height, Zuria began developing apprehension in her face. She was evidently thinking hard about something. Her movements slowed, drew out longer than necessary, before she parted her lips to speak without meeting Liselle's eyes.

"Don't tell her I said any of that," said Zuria, placing the final card on top of the accumulated others. The pallid eyes of the monarch stared upward from the short tower's culmination, her regal, lifeless gaze piercing through the surrounding dim light.

* * *

:::

* * *

The asari had been savoring the moment, the surreal sight of the mighty Aria T'Loak kneeling before her, helplessly anticipating her own death. It was the ultimate insult to the queen: a pathetic, quiet death. No glorious battle, no inferno of struggle or cataclysmic destruction to mark her passing. She would bleed out in silence, on the dismal floor of a paltry restroom in her own club, betrayed by her own administration. And after the successful decapitation of her powerful syndicate, Aria T'Loak's body would be mounted on the bright sign flickering _Afterlife_ right outside the nightclub's entrance, hoisted up dead center with limbs splayed and head hanging lifelessly forward for all to see. Her era would end at the tip of a blade, such a small instrument to silence a woman of such incredible power.

"Are you afraid?" she asked one last time, thinking that maybe, just maybe, she would receive a _yes_.

Aria gave her no such gratification. "…If I fear anything," she said, pausing to draw in a breath, "it's not this... not even close."

The assassin suddenly halted, grew stiff. She made a strained sound—nearly a grunt—which leaked through her mask. It was followed by another, this time slurred, guttural, from the depths of her throat. It was a sound of pure distress and escalating agony. And then her chest opened up; rib cage blossoming like a gruesome flower with the spectral glow of biotics dancing along its petals, on the rupturing organs, and on splintering bone. Blood and debris splattered onto the ill asari below, painting her as the assassin slumped forward. The weight of her destroyed body collapsed onto Aria, who pushed her off. She bit down on the inside of her cheek hard as the knives of pain scraped against her very marrow, but she managed to rise, fueled by harrowing anger alone.

The asari's allies—a pair of salarians—were briefly frozen in terror. Aria was not supposed to be able to stand. She was supposed to be disoriented, weak, and in far too much agony to even move. That was what they had planned for. Yet there she held herself upright, shoulders rising and falling as she fought to keep her lungs filled, doused in the remnants of their team leader, and taking her first staggering steps forward. Aria was glaring, but it was no simple glare; she was issuing to them a promise of imminent annihilation. It was not a threat. It was not a prediction. It was informative, and utterly absolute.

Fearing for their lives if they hesitated a moment longer, the salarians rushed forward at her, drawing their guns and taking aim. Aria brought her hand up, a wince fleeting across her features as she called upon her biotics to send one assassin flying back into the far wall, and tearing the other's gun from his grasp. The salarian still on his feet scrambled for a second firearm, but by the time he had managed to secure his fingers around it, Aria had her hands upon him. She threw him in the direction of the restroom's large mirror, and with a fearsome shout, slammed his face into its surface with all her might. A burst of cracks spread outward as she withdrew his head from the jagged crater, then smashed him into it once more. The glass pierced his mask, his face, rendering him stunned and horrifically wounded.

When the salarian she had previously thrown away recovered, he lifted his pistol again, pointing it Aria. She immediately pulled her held opponent away from the mirror, turning his body in his ally's direction as a shield. The bullets buried into his chest; Aria tossed him to the floor afterward, stepping over the dying man as she sent a vicious lash at the remaining assassin. He shouted in pain as the biotic field pierced through his light armor, anchoring into his body like talons as the field mercilessly pulled him forward against his will. For a split second he defenselessly watched Aria bringing her arm back, preparing a tremendous blow. The distance between them swiftly closed. With a roar she swung forward, voice ringing through the crimson room, and her fist, cloaked in a biotic glow, found the assassin's face. The cracking of bone and wet splitting of flesh was heard as his skull caved in, and he was sent crashing to the floor where he moved no more.

For a while Aria stood there; chest heaving, plagued by uncontrollable panting, with beads of perspiration gliding down her chilled skin that felt all too hot at once. Blood, broken glass, and bodies littered the floor around her. The fever boiling in her head sent strange, warped thoughts to the surface of her consciousness. She wanted to shout again. She wanted her voice to haunt these walls forever as a warning to all who dared challenge the queen. She feared not death. She had defied death, usurped death, _became _death. She was the _fucking queen_ of Omega, and the queen had been blessed with a long life.

But her heart labored away, growing weary from the toxins strangling its cells. And the agony had never left her, not for a moment. The phantasmal, yet eerily corporeal presence of countless javelins remained impaling her, skewering her body like a fabled beast in the aftermath of a ceremonial hunt; and the room still spun in reds and black smears of corpses at her feet, glinting cracks in the mirror, broken green eyes, lurid streaks on the walls. She staggered, her shoulder falling against a stall's support before sliding to the floor in a heap. The price of utilizing biotics was presented to her, demanding payment by forcefully seizing what little remained of her strength. Recognizing that consciousness would soon leave her, Aria shakily reached up to her earpiece.

"Renaga," she gasped, "Call Havlon, we can trust him. Come find me. I'm… I'm on the usual floor… east restroom. Are you here…?"

"_I'm about a block away; what's going on?"_

"Just get… get your ass over here… fucking _arrest _Anikot, and kill anyone else who gets in your way… Just do it…"

"_Aria? I'm on my way right now, but can you explain more? ...Aria? Aria?"_

She was drifting in and out of awareness. Waves of pain were pulling her under, drowning her lucidity. She could feel the cold floor against her cheek. The scent of fresh blood was in her nose, a familiar perfume—death's perfume. Her mind was swirling about, and her eyes were pointed directly forward, their sight oscillating between sinks coated in deep crimson light, and spans of nothingness during which she may have momentarily lost consciousness. Her lips were parted; shuddering, strained breaths and periodic, abrupt grunts of acute torment passing through them as the rest of her body trembled on its own accord. Occasionally, a limb or her abdominal muscles would convulse, instinctively withdrawing inward with the intent to assume a fetal position, but she never permitted herself to reach any resemblance of that pose. And above all other things, Aria forbade herself from closing her eyes, knowing very well that if she allowed herself such a respite, she might never open them again.

* * *

:::

* * *

The work day was at last winding down to its last hour, to the great relief of the councilor seated at her desk, sorting through her mail and arranging a schedule for the following day. She detested doing both, but the promise of being able to lie down and finally shut her eyes in a few hours was enough to get her through the final, dreadful hurdles. The Presidium's evening hues were leaking through her office's windows, bathing the interior in a comfortable warm light. But something about its hue was different; it almost seemed... more red than usual, Councilor Tevos observed, but she dismissed the oddity as nothing but a product of her fatigued imagination. She really did need to get some sleep.

After a few more trudging minutes, Tevos looked up to briefly relieve her strained eyes. She closed them, opened them, and blinked a few times to send away the slight ache caused by staring at screens for much too long. The afternoon petitions had not lasted long enough to grant her a sufficient reprieve from desk work, and she was now suffering the repercussions. Her gaze drifted aimlessly about her desk as she leaned forward, folding her arms upon its surface to support herself, until her eyes finally stopped on the paperweight resting on one corner. It had faithfully been there for years; years and years... She reached for it, grasping the flat-bottomed orb in her fingers and brought it close to her face for examination. It gleamed in the dusk pouring through the windows. The globe, even after time long passed, still proudly displayed its eternal nightscape carved from volcanic glass; adorned with uncertain swirls of white and gray, frozen in the polished sphere like drifting clouds over fields of ash.

She idly rotated the paperweight, simulating the spin of a planet. The item stored memories. Ghosts, recollections of a certain crimelord once seated in the now-empty chair in front of her desk, holding the very same orb in her hand, fathoming its aesthetic value, and then—to the councilor's dismay—repeatedly tossing it into the air. Since that moment, the orb had always reminded Tevos of Aria. The aspect of uncertainty. The guise of a miniature planet whose atmosphere was engulfed by everlasting storms, concealing whatever core it might have possessed far beneath.

It might have been her sleepy mind instigating the thought, but Tevos began to absently wonder what Aria was presently doing. However, she immediately tried to think of something else. As a general rule, entertaining thoughts about Aria T'Loak was quite hazardous to one's health. Only negativity came from thinking about her; death, violence, greed, conquest. How did Aria thrive under those living conditions? A life in constant turmoil, endless war? Tevos knew that Aria had chosen that life, but it still baffled her. And although her own job as asari councilor exposed to her many horrors, it wasn't like she was expected to go out and witness them firsthand by directly _partaking_ in anything resembling what Aria did.

It was to be accepted that Aria was simply a creature of conflict. She sought power and influence, therefore trouble and battles were drawn to her like a magnet. She was part of an incendiary community, a special breed of people either born into their violent culture, or those who immigrated into it as a result of an inexplicable attraction. Omega was a fortress burning with constant war, and somehow Aria T'Loak, a individual gifted with a natural, intimate understanding of war and the managing of empires, had climbed her way to very apex where she sat crowned as its indomitable queen.

Councilor Tevos wondered how often Aria had to part from her throne to personally attend to business; whether there were some things she only trusted herself to undertake, and on what frequency that occurred. It was probably a rarity, as Tevos envisioned Aria as being very parsimonious with her recognition of legitimate threats needing her own intervention. She imagined Aria spending most of her days in physical leisure, speaking to people, making calls, reviewing reports and data—very much a CEO's job, come to think of it, although a bit of an unorthodox version—and then, receiving news of something dire or deemed uncontainable by her officers. And so she would deliberately rise from her couch, bearing absolutely no vestige of apprehension or doubt in her face, and depart. Did people fear to see that phenomenon? What did they think hours later when she returned, quietly, calmly, leaving all to wonder what fate had befallen the poor soul who crossed her? How daunting a scenario that would be.

It had been quite a while since Tevos last saw Aria in the flesh, but the lasting impression she had made still haunted her. She remembered her presence vividly; commanding, powerful, fearsome, intelligent. How Omega must have feared her, revered her.

Tevos rose from her chair, deciding that her mind was wandering too much to complete any more work. What little remained could be finished the next morning, that is, if she slept well enough. While preparing to leave, she spared Aria one final thought, returning to her initial conjecture of what she was doing at that moment. Probably lounging away, orchestrating her domain while surrounded by the luxuries of ascendancy, holding some sort of libation in one hand, and in the other, Omega, held securely in a proverbial iron grip.


	4. Pain and Pride

**A/N:** Wherein I apply human physiological processes to asari... hmm...

* * *

[ **Chapter 4:** Pain and Pride ]

* * *

**TORUS INQUIRER** — **"Traverse Corporations Face Tremendous Charges"**

Earlier this morning, the Citadel Council formally charged three major corporations established in the Attican Traverse for infringing upon a wide variety of laws and regulations. Although the finer details and resulting evidence produced by each investigation remains classified, the charges are publicly accessible.

Tensora Productions, best known for their high-quality weapon modifications and participating in the recent development of firearms that no longer require conventional ammunition, and instead rely on projecting tiny grains shaven from a metal ammunition block housed inside the weapon itself, was the first of the trio currently held before the Council's allegations. The corporation was charged with the development of illegal chemical weapon modifications that cause chronic illness and debilitating biological complications in individuals who are shot but survive. They are also facing charges for weapon testing on live creatures to gauge the effects of said mods. Masin-Berot, a major supplier of salarian war technology, will be present in Citadel courthouses to address charges of allegedly selling armor, programs, weapons, and explosives to violent pirate entities and known terrorist groups. And the last of the trio, Fortitude Labs, has been accused of multiple accounts of fraud in recorded shipments, tax evasion, and the forceful absorption of many smaller firms via blackmail, bribery, intimidation, and murder.

All three corporations and their respective spokespersons have declined comment at this time, but that may change over the next days as the businesses prepare to face government prosecutors in two weeks from today. Any corporation found guilty of charges can face many of possible fates, from staggering fines, imprisonment for board members and administration, to complete liquidation.

Immediately following the Council's announcement, stock market indexes throughout Council space uniformly plummeted in what many are describing as the 'sharpest dive in decades'. Countless investors are frantically selling their shares of the accused corporations before their prices hit all-time lows, which many expect to happen before the end of the current trading day. Although most people losing money from this incident are sympathetic toward the Council's intentions, and the resulting financial consequences which their press secretary said were "a necessary setback; a price we must all pay for unwittingly supporting corruption for too long", others are in an uproar over the Council neglecting to also press charges against two other Attican Traverse 'titan companies' rumored to be participating in similar misconduct.

"Pluvian Technologies and Virtana are companies that should be right alongside the other persecuted three," says Ineria T'Raen, president and founder of the Environmental Preservation Association based here on the Citadel. "There has been talk and evidence for years linking those [expletive] with terrorists, slavers, and pirates, as well as the destruction of garden worlds specifically protected by Council-decreed reservation systems. They illegally strip blooming planets for resources, planets that might have one day been destined for sapient life! This is inexcusable and I will not forgive the Council for not bringing them to justice, because everyone knows that the only lawyers vicious enough to duel the ones from those two 'mob-companies' are the government's. It's the Council's responsibility to shut these guys down! I don't know what sort of game they're playing, but if it turns out that they're favoring Pluvian [Technologies] and Virtana because of some upper class buddy system revolving around wealth or galactic influence, I'm going to raise a political storm and bring it to their [expletive] Embassies."

* * *

:::

* * *

Liselle and her mentor had only recently returned from a biotic training session when a small, portentous group of visitors unexpectedly and suddenly arrived at the apartment. The two were still suited up in proper commando attire, seated in the kitchen after grabbing something to drink while laughing about a throw Liselle had bungled by accidentally sending a practice dummy flying over the walls of their secluded, courtyard-like spot and into the distance; what if it landed amidst a group of people, Liselle had proposed? They giggled even through the flat ring of the doorbell, unable to sever their minds from the comical scenario. As a result of their obvious preoccupation, a commando lazing around on sofas in the main sitting room tended to the door instead, fingers lying against the gun in its holster at her hip just in case the visitors were unfriendly.

The two asari in the kitchen only ceased their joking to listen to the commotion of words in the adjacent room. Fast speech, an urgent, concise explanation; and then, the muffled patter of multiple feet rushing into the apartment, both swift and discordant in rhythm. The visitors passed the kitchen en route to the hallway, and Liselle, now on her feet with the intention to investigate, was exposed to a scene that made her heart descend to fathoms devoid of warmth. Their commando led the small caravan, jogging toward the hallway while beckoning to those behind her, showing them the way. Immediately after her followed a pair of salarians, hurriedly shuffling along with as much haste as they could afford without dropping the familiar, precious cargo carried between them both.

It was Aria. Her usual ensemble had been swapped out for basic clothing articles, and she was limp, in a daze, only partially-aware of everything happening around her. When they disappeared down the hall, Liselle's eyes were wide. She instantly began to dash after them, but Zuria seized her by the arm and held her in place.

"They don't know who you are," she hissed to the struggling girl. "You can't follow them yet. I'm sorry, Liselle, but you need to stay here for now."

"_What happened to her?"_ Liselle hissed back, panic rising on her voice. "Let me go! I need to _go—_"

"Liselle, stay here," Zuria reiterated, trying her very best to emulate Aria's commanding tones while keeping Liselle in her hand's vise. "I'm going to go see what happened, okay? I'll be back in a few minutes, I promise. I'll come get you as soon as I can, but for now, you need to stay out of sight. We can't have them suspecting who you are."

Liselle, though on the verge of tears, acquiesced with a nod.

"Stay here," her mentor said one last time as she released the maiden's arm. "I'll be right back." She left the kitchen, giving Liselle a final glance over her shoulder as if to emphasize the importance of the girl's promise, and rushed down the hallway.

Liselle was left to sit in the kitchen alone, worry darkening her features as she hushed her own breathing, straining to hear anything at all from elsewhere in the apartment. While she stagnated in ignorance, Zuria was being informed of the events that had occurred just a few hours previously.

An attempt on Aria T'Loak's life had been made via the modes of poison and blade, and although both had failed to take her, Aria remained terribly ill. The assistant of Doctor Havlon's, who was updating Zuria, helped recover the pirate queen from the warzone that had once been an Afterlife restroom, where she lie shaking, feverish, yet without surrendering an ounce of her anger or dignity. As they lifted her away from the scattered pools of still-warm blood, the orders she gave them where slurred, initially nonsensical; something about a drink, a 'bitch with a knife', and Lieutenant Anikot. They cleverly made sense of the situation with those small bits of data, however. Lieutenant Renaga was able to clarify the significance of Anikot, whom Aria wanted apprehended, but the batarian was nowhere to be found. That setback was resolved by sending a notice up and down the chain of command—a bounty, in essence—to capture Anikot, preferably alive. As for the 'drink', poison had been slipped into Aria's glass of liquor, which was certainly the source of her current illness. The glass was found on the floor in her lounge, and was promptly bagged in hopes to identify the harmful agent. And lastly, the 'bitch with a knife', or what remained of her, was quickly discovered nearby.

Unfortunately, even after hoisting Aria's arms over their shoulders to aid her with two more pairs of legs, the woman was still unable to utilize her own. The pain she was under was apparently immense, for when she attempted to take steps forward, Aria violently trembled, faltered, and breathed rapidly through her nose while her features contorted with a blend of agony and fleeting traces of delirium. Her legs and feet were lifted from the floor as well in resolution, and they carried her out in that fashion, hasting through the club's chaos toward the nearest exit, escorted by Renaga and a few operatives.

Aria was transferred into a skycar, boarded by Havlon, Renaga, and an assistant, who immediately disembarked into the currents of traffic. Communicating with their boss during that period of time proved to be a difficult task, as she was mildly disoriented, continuously slipping in and out of awareness, and whenever they did manage to elicit any intelligible responses from her, they only came in the forms of 'yes' or 'no'. At one point, Aria passed out completely. She was only roused from her inert state after they had arrived at the building Havlon worked from, where they treated Aria to the extent of their abilities. When she was once again capable of speech for a while, they asked her for a discreet location where she could be taken to recover safely, a place only populated by people of absolute trustworthiness. After a long interval spent in quiet, rather grim consideration, Aria relinquished an address, albeit quite reluctantly for some undisclosed reason.

And now a bedroom in the apartment—Liselle's bedroom, coincidentally—had been commandeered by the salarian doctor, his assistant, and their patient. Zuria looked on as they fretted over Aria, who lied semiconscious in bed, fighting the malignance in her blood while on thought-impairing, heavy painkillers. The orchestrator of the scene was Havlon, an irascible salarian of a dark gray complexion and a long thin face composed of sharp angles, dire and uncongenial in nature. He was barking orders to his assistant and even exercised his prerogative over Iaera and the commandos, telling them to carry out menial tasks such as retrieving water or fetching an additional pillow to prop up Aria with. They obeyed without question.

As promised, Zuria navigated through the bustling people and returned to the kitchen to report back to Liselle with all she had learned. She found the girl where she left her, however Liselle was currently interrogating the commando sent to retrieve water. The commando only offered her a vague explanation, "Aria's sick, I need to get back to them" before dashing down the hall again. Liselle grew dejected at the lack of information, but when she saw her mentor approaching, she was on her feet again, alert and wordlessly inquiring.

"Pretend you're a commando," Zuria said to her, gesturing for her to follow. "If someone tells you to do something, do it. Otherwise, try to stay out of the way."

Liselle's silence served as her affirmation while she traveled through the apartment. Her legs felt like lead, and her chest was uncomfortably constricted by anxiety. Never had anything like this happened before. This was a catastrophe reserved for nightmares, not reality, because Aria was supposed to be _invincible_. But as Liselle walked right behind her mentor, keeping to one side of the hallway as to not block the traffic of other persons hurrying by, a strange sense of decay and loss pervaded her body. It was a sinking feeling, lamentation. The funeral of a preconceived notion, or one installed in her mind since early childhood: the one providing constant reassurance that no matter what happened, her mother was the most powerful individual Liselle had ever known, who would inevitably emerge as the victor in _any_ conflict, or the force solving _any_ problem, regardless of its caliber. Although Aria was still alive, this concrete principle Liselle had believed in throughout her entire life was eroding, crumbling away into a sea of misconception, of juvenile fantasy.

Aria was strong, but not perpetual, as much as the ghosts of her youth wished it to be so.

She was only permitted to stay in the same room as her mother for a few minutes, as Havlon had begun to herd everyone out save for Iaera. Before that, Liselle had sat in a lonely chair set against a wall, directly positioned within her mother's possible line of sight. She caught glimpses of her between the people ceaselessly moving around the bed, hoping to make eye contact at least once in spite of Aria's febrile delirium. She thought she had at one point; Aria's clouded eyes, surrounded by pools of shadow gathered in her sockets, indicators of prolonged fatigue, stress, and serious ailment, seemed to find Liselle's for a few seconds. It was uncertain whether her mother intentionally looked at her, or whether it was by chance, but it mattered not soon enough. Aria's eyes wandered away again, casting a feverish, empty gaze elsewhere at nothing in particular.

Once banished from the room, Liselle relocated to sit beside Zuria in a guest bedroom across the hall, presently used by the commandos during their temporary stay. She sat dolefully in the open doorway, staring out into the room she no longer had access to, whose door mutually remained open. Occasionally, she would hear Havlon speaking with Iaera, or to his assistant, who would sometimes leave for a moment to carry out whatever quick errand he had been sent on. An indeterminate amount of time passed—a few hours, approximately, crossing far into the period during which Liselle normally slept—and soon, Zuria was asking her to rest. She refused.

Despite her adamant decision to remain awake, Liselle nodded off a few times as the supposed night hours passed. She was abruptly startled back into full consciousness at a loud, sudden noise. It was a shout, uncertain in origin and purpose, thoroughly confusing her and the other sleepy occupants of the room, who stumbled to their feet in search of the trouble. Another shout found them, and another. They were vulgar curses, rising on Aria's unmistakable voice in what could only be a fit of extreme agony. They were terrible sounds, bloodcurdling and haunting. Liselle scrambled to the room, escaping Zuria's preventative hold and defying her demands that she not go. The scene awaiting her was tumultuous; Aria was writhing, twisting about beneath the bed sheets of sterile white, stricken with a degree of bodily attrition so excruciating that her full lucidity had restored and inflamed into sheer personal torment. When Havlon drew near, she reached out and seized him by the collar, yanking him down to face her where she held him in a trembling, fearsome grip.

"You _fucking_ _do something_ to stop this!" she demanded of him.

"You think I haven't tried?" he replied, exhibiting no fear. He was, after all, the one overseeing the preservation of her life. "The initial dosage of anesthetic already exceeded safe amounts! I don't care if it's worn off; if I give you the same amount again you could suffer severe side effects!"

"I don't care! _You do as I say!_"

"Fine! You want to slip into a permanent coma? It's _your _funeral."

Before Aria released him, her peripheral vision caught sight of a particular spectator, standing among the alerted others. She looked directly at Liselle, and this time, the maiden was certain her mother had seen her. Aria let Havlon go, but before he could insert a needle into her arm to administer more of the painkiller, she stopped him.

"…Forget it," she muttered, holding his wrist at bay.

"What?"

"I can handle it," Aria said, resting back against the pillows. Her body still shuddered and twitched in obvious pain, accompanied with nausea and strain creeping into her features, making her reconsideration appear quite outlandish to onlookers and especially to her own daughter, who couldn't fathom her reasons.

Why had she done that, Liselle wondered? Had it been done in pride, in communicating to her that she still indeed had control over the situation? That she still possessed strength, and enough of it to overcome physical torture? Did she, now put in an incredibly vulnerable position for all to see, act in desperation to save what little remained of her former reputation in her daughter's perspective?

Whatever her intentions, Aria did not meet Liselle's eyes again.

* * *

:::

* * *

When the earliest hours of Omega's established 'dawn' arrived, Aria was awake and cognitively sound, having endured the worst of her affliction. Although her health had not been restored, it had at the very least improved over the course of the arduous night, but the sickly pale shades lingered in her flesh, and the weary darkness was still brooding beneath her eyes like the remnants of a horrible nightmare.

Everyone within the apartment was present in the same bedroom, commandos standing in a neat row along the wall containing the window, and Liselle was among them. A pistol was fastened to her hip, an instrument to help serve her temporary façade. Zuria had handed it to her a few minutes earlier, saying, "Just hold onto it for now."

The time had come for Havlon to present his findings to his boss; to let her know exactly what had been done to her, how to treat the lasting ailments, and to pass on any evidence that could lead them toward silencing their enemy. "The neutralizing agents we introduced to your blood were able to spare you from the worst," Havlon began, standing at the foot of the bed Aria remained in. "If we delayed, say, about a half-hour longer, you would've gone into cardiac arrest."

Aria gave no reaction.

Havlon extended a hand to his assistant, who dutifully filled it with a datapad. "Unfortunately, a significant amount of poison still remains in your body. Not enough to kill you, just enough to leave you quite ill for a few more days. Fever symptoms, primarily. You're going to have to let it run its course. I suggest drinking plenty of water, vitamin-rich liquids, those sorts of things. No solid foods for a while, unless you want to start vomiting. And take short walks around the room several times a day. Just don't overdo it." His permanently angry gaze dropped to the datapad, reviewing the information before resuming. "And as for the poison's chemical composition and origins… Well, if they were trying to kill you with it, they did a pathetic job. There are countless other substances that could've killed you within minutes. This is sloppy work, if unintentional. I assume it wasn't."

"No," Aria said. "They didn't want to take me out with poison. They just wanted to cripple me first."

Liselle sorrowfully watched her mother, hearing the sheer disdain in her words. The situation was utterly humiliating for Aria.

"Then I'm sure you want me to tell you what it was?" inquired Havlon. "Let's see… the poison was a biotoxin, produced by a carnivorous plant native to Khar'shan. The plant is locally called a _vanhis_, known for its capability of slow movement and a stomach that can stretch to the size of an average man. Its diet normally consists of carrion; animals that become trapped and die in the marshlands it originates from. After engorging itself on a meal, the plant's stomach expands to the corresponding dimensions, often making it too bloated to move, thus an easier target for... predators, let's say. To compensate, the_ vanhis_ secrets a poison from the pores in its 'flesh' along with the other byproducts of digestion. Altogether, the substance gives off a foul odor, keeping predators at bay, and those that still attempt to eat it become poisoned. The toxin itself blocks muscle tissue from absorbing adequate oxygen and nutrients, forcing a prolonged period of anaerobic respiration, which results in excruciating body-wide cramping. Aside from an accompanying immune system response, mild shock is also expected, and as I mentioned before, eventual cardiac arrest if left untreated." He strode over to Aria's side to place his datapad in front of her. "What was odd about the poison we found in your drinking glass was that it was isolated from the rest of the digestive waste it's usually found within. That means it was… 'purified' for this purpose. Probably so you wouldn't detect it."

Aria briefly poured over the information. "After engorging itself," she hollowly read aloud, "too bloated to move…"

She was seething; Liselle could see it in the shadows of her face, the stiffness in her shoulders, on every angry breath.

After returning the datapad to Havlon, Aria addressed him again. "What else is there? Did anyone identify those people I killed?"

"If their IDs were real, they were nobodies," Havlon shrugged. "They all came from completely different districts. No abnormalities in their profiles, no affiliations with any factions, enemy or not."

"They were fakes," Aria vapidly concluded. "The common street scum doesn't get that far without training and resources. And they had a very good idea about what they were doing. Is there anything else? Any word on Anikot?"

"He's gone. They're still trying to track him down."

Her displeasure further increased. "Perfect…" Just when a thick silence had finished settling over the bedroom, she spoke again, eyes directed toward the window, her paled face illuminated by the virulent warm glow. "You can go now, Havlon."

"Excellent. And now I await my paycheck," he said flatly and motioned to his assistant to follow. "I'm leaving information behind for your… _designated caretakers_ over the next few days. How to handle any possible complications, and if they still screw something up, I remain available." The salarians departed from the bedroom, the assistant burdened with the doctor's cases of medical supplies.

"Orders, ma'am?"

Aria turned in the direction of the commando who had issued the question, consequentially voicing the thoughts of all in the vicinity. "Return to your usual duties and posts as I coordinated for the remainder of this week. All of you."

They obeyed, exiting the room in an orderly line, and at their trail's end was Liselle, who stopped before she too left. The door, no longer sensing anyone in immediate proximity, automatically shut. It was the last sound heard for a long time. Not even Liselle dared to speak a word; she stood motionlessly in one place, hesitating in the burning, dusky hues of light seeping into the room, wondering if perhaps her mother did not want her company. Aria gave no sign of rejection or acceptance, instead choosing to continuously—and contemptuously—peer out the window without sparing her daughter a single glance. Tentatively, Liselle moved at last, taking a few careful steps toward the bed. Her mother made no reaction.

She completed her trip to Aria's side, being mindful to not intercept her line of sight, and lingered in that spot to look upon her mother. Her eyes were tired, a cold sweat still coated her skin, and… there was a faint line on her throat, Liselle observed. A wound. It was minuscule and already beginning to heal, but it still made her stomach twist about in dread. She reached out, lifting her hand from its idle position at her side, and brushed her fingertips against Aria's cold upper arm. It was a cautious gesture of affection, a test to make sure she wouldn't be swatted away. She wasn't, and so the action evolved into the bringing of her arms around Aria's neck and shoulders in a loose hug. Liselle rested her cheek against the top of her mother's head, implementing her best efforts to convey all her concerns without having to speak.

"Please don't touch me," Aria said distantly. "I'm angry right now."

Liselle released her. The words stung, but at least Aria had permitted the gesture for a few seconds, indicating that she had not completely condemned it. The maiden stepped away, venturing over to the window her mother was still gazing through, and stood beside one edge of its wide frame. She joined Aria in donating her attention to the metal cities, keeping her voice hushed when deciding to speak. "You really have no idea who's doing this?"

"No," Aria replied, then briefly paused to consider whether divulging her daughter in any details was a wise decision. "But it's someone very below our radar. Some sort of low-profile entity comprising professionals."

The girl gave a solemn nod, growing pensive as she searched her mind for other possible explanations. "…Do you think it's Asari High Command? I've been reading on the extranet about them being very unhappy with you. They think that drug Lucen Dust is coming from Omega."

Aria audibly exhaled. "Government entities," she said, "even a group as shady and powerful as Asari High Command, wouldn't bother with spite. They would never attack us in such personal ways. No. They would've done a clean, quick job. If it was them… I would've known about it before anything even happened. I have eyes there." She became silent and thoughtful, gaze wavering about various points across the cityscape. "I need better investigation teams. If disloyalty in my forces runs deeper than this, I need to put more people out there I know I can trust."

Liselle said nothing for a long while, somewhat surprised that her mother was musing aloud for her to hear. Perhaps Aria's brush with death had accentuated the value in having people with whom she could discuss sensitive information. The numbers of such people were rapidly dwindling, it seemed. Liselle looked out at Omega, scouring its hostile alleys and spires for a solution, just a fragment of a clue or a way to defend themselves from the ominous storm trying to swallow them all. The station was vast and chaotic. There were innumerable hiding places for enemy malcontents to crawl into and operate from; how could Aria ever hope to keep watch over them all? Even for someone so powerful, it was an impossible feat. Her eyes and ears stationed throughout Omega had a distinct job: to report anything they found to be suspicious or detrimental to her interests, but that in itself was the problem. Their field of vision was wide, unfocused, scanning the entire population for aberrancies, but never seeking anything in particular. To an investigator with a specific target or goal, the smallest detail with relevance to their objective could be pursued at once, but to a general informant, that same detail may not have contained enough significance to even be reported in the first place. Finding a particular group of people within Omega's turmoil was going to require devotion, surgical precision, and most importantly, people who could be depended on to supply Aria with legitimate intelligence.

She turned away from the window at last, straightening out her posture as much as she could, and bravely said, "Let me help."

For the first time in hours, Aria's unyielding ireful expression morphed into something else; perplexity, manifesting through a tiny adjustment to the crease in her brow. "What did you say?"

Liselle maintained her audacity. "Let me help you."

"Help?" Aria repeated as if she had miraculously forgot the definition of the word, or what Liselle could have possibly meant by it. "How would you _help?_"

"Put me on one of those investigation teams."

Liselle's strange proposal influenced Aria's skepticism to persist, coupled with a sudden involvement in their topic of discussion. "What, so you can go get yourself killed on the first day?" Her mother shook her head. "You have no idea what the lower districts are like. My answer is no."

The maiden bristled. When Aria gave an answer, it was expected to be received as a final, non-negotiable decree that would be abided by all relevant parties. She had learned to accept her mother's orders over time, and rarely ever challenged her anymore, but this circumstance was different. A fight was necessary. This decision was massive, one Liselle may have made impetuously, but once the words had left her heart on the vessel of her lips, the girl abruptly became willing to aggressively defend them at all costs. _She wanted to help_. There was so much imbued in that statement—her love for her mother, her desire to finally witness the world she had grown up in but never saw, and the pure fact that this decision, despite all its risks and dangers, was _her own _decision. Not her mother's, not anymore. Every aspect of Liselle's life had been guided and controlled by Aria, but no more. _No more_. And should her own choice bring harm to herself, so be it. Liselle opened her mouth, letting her argument spill forth, "Mother, some of your closest allies are betraying you, trying to take Omega from you. Sounds a little like what you once did a long time ago to someone else."

She certainly had Aria's attention, at least. Liselle continued, "You don't know who's going to dissent next. What if your teams feed you false information? What if they try to kill you again…?" She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Mother, you _know_ you can trust me. I may not be a seasoned mercenary, but you can_ trust_ me. How much is that worth? Anyone can learn how to fight, but not everyone will be loyal to you forever."

"Most _are_ loyal to me," Aria immediately replied. "This incident and the people involved was a statistical anomaly. My syndicate isn't falling apart; it's experiencing some _infections _of disloyalty. It can be remedied." With a sharp grimace flashing across her features, Aria adjusted her position in the bed. "The majority sees how much they profit from working for me. I fucking _spoil _them compared to what goes on under other leaderships. I'm not a fool, Liselle. A few power-hungry idiots deciding to go traitor isn't going to topple my authority. There are many people that can be relied on for this task, people with experience and skills. You lack in that department, and so my answer stands."

"You're confident that you know some people who can be trusted," said Liselle, her hands reflexively curling into fists, "but are you sure you aren't confusing confidence with pride and arrogance?"

"Don't you _ever _speak to me that way."

Liselle almost flinched at her mother's tone. Anyone else would have shrunk beneath the vicious warning in terror, never to cross Aria in that manner again, but Liselle held fast. But before she could formulate any sort of rebuttal, her mother resumed first.

"I will not be putting my own daughter—a mere_ child—_out on these streets to die." Aria was deathly severe, each syllable carrying even more irrefutable weight than usual. "You've lived your entire life sheltered from harm until_ I_ deem you ready enough to be introduced to this world. Some people are born to do certain things, Liselle. Some people are predisposed to flourish in places like these, and I'm very doubtful that you're one of them."

A tight-lipped frown was roused from the maiden. "How do you know that?" she demanded. "Did you just… look at me and decide that? Projected your will onto me, making me, in your mind, whatever you want me to be?"

Aria moved. She brought her legs over the side of the bed, placing her feet onto the floor, and with a fierce glare effacing any pain it might have caused her, she rose. Although Liselle hadn't previously diminished before her mother's terrifying stature, she was dangerously close to doing so now. Even while clearly ill, shaky, and weakened, Aria's power of intimidation remained dauntingly intact. "Do you know why I'm doubtful of you?" she asked Liselle while approaching her. "It's because you've always been a romantic. You look at the galaxy through your own lens. Your own filter. You don't think objectively. You see something and apply these… _romanticized_ concepts to it. I hear it whenever you speak to me about things you've read or watched a vid about. It's never about the technicalities; it's always about what you found _beauty_ in. So when you're exposed to something without the dissociative protection of an e-book or vid, the fantasy is gone. It's real now. And what if you can't handle it? Then what, Liselle? You want to die before your first century?" Aria suddenly tore her eyes away from her daughter, facing her body toward the window, breathing slightly labored from both displeasure and what currently constituted physical exertion.

Liselle was rendered silent. She watched her mother for a while, realizing just how much she despised the idea of having Liselle involved. The ultimate indication of that was her choice to argue with her. It wasn't a usual case of _no_, followed by ignoring any ensuing complaints or objections; this time, Aria wanted Liselle to _understand_. To communicate to her daughter how much the notion of her death disturbed her, albeit in the rather harsh manner she was known for. But this wasn't solely about Aria anymore.

"You care about me," Liselle said absently, looking away, "but you hardly even speak to me."

Aria returned her gaze in Liselle's direction.

"You say you love me, but you never let me do anything on my own. You… you keep me here so nothing bad will happen to me. So _you_ won't hurt if something does." Liselle had never before used such an accusing tone when speaking to Aria. She nearly frightened herself. "This is about _you_, not me. Would you really keep me in a cage for a hundred more years, just to protect yourself from suffering if something happened? So I'm just supposed to stay here in purgatory until you finally decide to let me out? I'm not allowed to have a life of my own, to go out and experience things, to be happy, just to keep _your _feelings safe?"

Her mother said nothing, her visage completely unrevealing of any thoughts that might have been rushing through her mind, save for her eyes. There was a frightening aspect about them, an intensity, a terrible vigilance. For a moment, Liselle was certain that Aria was going to hit her. She didn't.

"Mother," Liselle said quietly, "I'm _tired_ of being here. I _want _to do this. I can handle it. I've had years of biotic training, and if… if something happens where I need to defend myself, I can send people flying. Just ask Zuria."

Her final persuasive point did little to change Aria's contemplative state. Her hands were on her hips, limbs rigid with their constant fight against exhaustion, and she had turned back toward the window. Aria was deep in thought, struggling with herself in an colossal inner clash. It eventually came to an end, and when it had, Aria met her daughter's eyes, reoriented her torso to properly face her, and said, "You will be collaborating with two of the best, most trusted operatives I'll be selecting for this mission, and I already have an idea regarding who they'll be. They're adept in combat, very intelligent, and they've proven themselves to be tremendously loyal thus far. Keep up with them, be wary of them, and learn from them."

The lack of mirth in her mother's gaze could not defeat Liselle's developing smile, but she immediately smothered it back down as to not appear like an overeager child, which might have made Aria reconsider. Instead of making an obvious exhibition of her alacrity, Liselle moved toward her mother and calmly brought her arms around her in an embrace, a thankful message containing all her appreciation and assurance that Aria's decision was not unwise.

Initially, Aria did not respond. Liselle wondered if she was indeed reevaluating her choice, but her worries were dismissed when Aria's arms rose from her sides to return the gesture despite the physical discomfort, and despite whatever mistake she could have been making. Aria hadn't noticed it prior, but while holding her daughter, she abruptly became aware of the pistol at her belt. The sight sent illness to the very marrow in her bones.

* * *

:::

* * *

The subsequent tempest following the controversial lawsuit announced that morning had Councilor Tevos—and therefore her attaché and aides as well—thoroughly swamped in the backlash and concerns of other politicians, the media, or simply anyone capable of pressuring her. Yes, it was certainly going to dent the economy, but not to an extent that would bring about any sort of recession. They had already calculated for that possibility. At the worst, some wealthy investors might go bankrupt if the accused corporations were liquidated, as all three had previously accumulated so many arcane layers of misconduct and immorally acquired research and developments that it was hard to see any resolution more appropriate than shutting them down entirely. Regardless of the outcome, the mere fact that the corporations were facing charges in the first place had elicited a steadily-brewing anxiety over all shareholders. They were already abandoning their wounded ships, fearing the prospect of sinking along with them. That particular damage was irreversible.

These corporations had been large and profitable; massive players in their respective markets. But their horrendous practices, finally exposed by the Council's Spectres (who had, oddly enough, essentially _stumbled_ upon mountains of incriminating evidence during their investigations of an entirely different matter), could not go without proper retribution. Of course, choosing to spare the two most powerful of the five titans was not precisely the most altruistic action the Council had ever taken, but it was necessary. If they had, a recession in the Traverse could have easily been triggered, and its resulting shockwaves would have inevitably been felt by the Citadel. The Council's finalized plan, after great deliberation and accounting for near-certainty that the corporations would _never_ be able to dodge the amount of evidence they had, involved keeping the most gargantuan corporations of the group afloat until new companies (hopefully ones that would adhere to their laws) filled the bereaved spots in the Traverse's injured economy. When that finally happened, and if the two malevolent corporations remained, they could be charged without having to endanger the prosperity of the Traverse as a whole.

That was their preparation for the worst case scenario, which was also, unfortunately, the most likely one. The decision did not sit well with Tevos, but nor did many others she had been forced to make in the past. As always, it had been done with the 'greater good' in mind; a presented choice between two evils, the selection of the lesser, and enduring the ensuing negativity and hatred regardless of whichever was chosen.

When the councilor's intercom on her desk chimed, her attaché's statement made her close her eyes in dismay, _"Councilor, you're getting a long-distance vid comm call. It's coming from Omega. It's Aria T'Loak."_

_Wonderful_, Tevos thought dryly. Aria's name was a universal omen of conflict and difficulty, and the asari councilor had quite enough of that for one day, or the week for that matter. "Has she given any specifics? What it regards?"

"_None ma'am, aside from it being marked as private and urgent. Do you want me to patch her through to the comm room down the hall? It's available."_

Tevos sighed, dutifully accepting her fate. The pirate queen's request for conference would be granted, it seemed, for it would be irresponsible to ignore whatever she had to say. "Yes, please do so," said Tevos. She rose from her chair, abandoned her desk, and left her office.

She idly wondered what Aria could possibly want this time as she traveled down the Embassy's corridors. After pausing to politely greet a few people she passed by during the short trip, she reached the door of her destination, pressed her hand to the lock, and was permitted access.

When she entered in the comm room and activated the hologram console, particles of light arranged themselves into a familiar shape, but something was... off. Aria was seated like she often was whenever they spoke, but her usual jacket was gone, and so was her corset, replaced by a plain undershirt. It left her shoulders and arms unusually visible, but everything else about her attire remained loyal to her inveterate preferences; dark pants, the same boots. The peculiarities did not end there, however. Her posture was different. She was listless, deprived of the normal vigor in her limbs. Overall, Aria appeared as though she had unceremoniously slumped down onto a couch in whatever room she was transmitting from, and had refused to adjust her position thenceforth.

The councilor, nonplussed by Aria's strange presentation, was unable to open their discussion, not even with the usual greeting. Aria supplied it instead.

_"Hello, Councilor. You kept me waiting."_

Tevos remained silent for another instant, still trying to make sense of Aria's reasons behind allowing herself to appear in such a nonprofessional manner. It was extremely uncharacteristic of her. Aria valued her image very much, and for her to relegate to the standards of resembling someone who had just rolled out of bed was incredibly outlandish. Tevos didn't know what to make of it, but the more she speculated, the more she wondered if Aria's message truly was exigent, thus influencing her lack of personal preparation. The councilor gently cleared her throat. "I do hope this call truly warranted a high-priority flag, Aria," she said to her. "I was previously in the middle of other important correspondences."

_"Don't give me that shit,"_ Aria nearly sneered. _"Anything I have to say to you is more important than whatever bureaucratic fucking around you're doing."_

Her hostility immediately elicited a mutual response. "Excuse me, but just what inspired you to address me with such impertinence? I believe it was _you_ requesting_ my_ audience, not the other way around. And so I should remind you that I have no obligation to speak with you, especially if you expect me to tolerate verbal attacks."

The only motion Aria made was a slight cant of the head. _"My verbal attacks are completely called for. The Council is just the heartthrob of the galaxy today, isn't it? You do know what I'm referring to, don't you?"_

Tevos was filled with dissatisfaction. Even Aria had jumped onto the waves of anger directed toward the Council, and for reasons she certainly had an inkling about, but did want to confirm. She had to confront the issue, however. After pinching the bridge of her nose for a few seconds in an attempt to keep a developing headache at bay, she lowered her hand, exhaled, and spoke to the patiently-awaiting Aria, "You're obviously just as displeased at today's decision as many others of business-inclined ilk have proven to be, and my suspicions of why that is so in your case... presents a most troubling and deplorable explanation. I would be appreciative if you invalidated it, but I know you won't be granting me that comfort."

_"I heard about it just a few hours ago,"_ Aria said, voice becoming duplicitously amiable for the duration of her recount._ "And I thought to myself, 'what an unfortunate turn of events, that after months of careful planning and arrangements, three of five massive corporations—trophy prizes of my current conquests, to be specific—I've finally secured... connections to... are suddenly facing an onslaught of damning charges at the whims of a few fucking councilors'. Upon my assessment of the situation, and after doing some quick arithmetic, I concluded that by the end of litigation I should expect to lose roughly two hundred million credits. So naturally I had a choice to make: drop my investments like most of the other panicking shareholders and recover whatever I could, or wait out the storm in hopes that the companies would survive and eventually bounce back. Would you like to know what I decided to do?"_

The councilor was already unhappy with Aria for supporting businesses so deficient in morality, but she humored her. "What did you do?" she blandly asked.

_"I kept half of it."_

"Why?"

_"Because I know a certain councilor who could influence the outcome of all this."_

Tevos was unable to contain a short, amused breath from leaving her lips. "You jest. You don't honestly believe that I would exonerate these corporations for all the crimes they've committed. And certainly not in some petty favor done for an individual who does not even care about the realm in which I serve."

_"Favors are for children,"_ Aria said dismissively. _"Their rate of repayment is directly proportional to one's sense of honor, and you can guess how that usually plays out here. No, I have a proposition for you, Councilor. You may find it interesting. Actually, I acquired knowledge of this just before I found out about the mishap we've been discussing. I was originally going to inform you free of charge—out of the generosity of my heart—but you pissed me off. So now I'm putting a price on it. This is how it'll work: you keep those corporations from dying, and I'll tell you who's smuggling the Lucen Dust."_

The councilor donned a look of incredulity. "You found out?"

_"I did. And you can find out too if you accept my offer."_

"Aria, it's insulting that you perceive me as a bribable person," Tevos shook her head. "I'm afraid I must wholeheartedly reject your offer, not only because it violates my personal integrity, but also because the entire worth of your information comes from the fact that you know something earlier than I will. Meaning, I will eventually obtain the same information as well, possibly sooner than one would expect. And so your offer has little value in comparison to what you are requesting of me."

_"I see the incorruptible asari councilor hasn't changed,"_ said Aria. A hint of sarcasm was detected in her tone. _"So righteous... so fair and on the side of justice. So noble and infallible, like the way the Council judges the businesses from the Attican Traverse. Subjecting them to the same imperial laws that govern the Citadel, and yet when pirates and slavers show up to raid their worlds... protection is nowhere in sight. You own them, but you don't care about them."_

Tevos became rigid. "Oh, that is quite rich. Are you trying to say that you treat Omega with more fairness than we treat our people? That your modes of 'protection' surpass the Council's in efficiency?"

_"They do, as a matter of fact. Call it extortion if you want, which I'm sure will be your knee-jerk reaction, but I fucking protect my territories. In my districts, sending a little payment my way will get you more guards stationed around your residence or business. In the Attican Traverse, sending money back into the Council space's economy will get you... nothing. If anything is extortion, it's that. Yet I remain more villainous for proposing a questionable transaction. You know, Tevos..."_ Aria paused, looking away for a moment, unconsciously communicating her mounting displeasure. _"...I used to like you."_ She brought her eyes back to the councilor. _"After talking to you for a while, I began to think that you were a lot different than the other politicians. And maybe you were. But it seems you've changed; conformed to them and their mindsets, and went back to viewing me as some sort of maniacal, belligerent drunk mob boss."_

"You're already belligerent without even first requiring intoxication," Tevos said coldly, but instantly regretted it. The councilor had done nothing to placate the situation; rather, she had only inflamed it. Aria was glaring at her, fuming. "Listen to me, Aria," Tevos began anew, hoping to amend her impulsive retaliation, "there are some things I cannot change. You of all people should realize that; recognize times when your intervention will not be enough to alter well-established precepts or the like. The same holds for the Attican Traverse. We cannot afford to risk military presence in such proximity to the Terminus Systems not because we desire to take advantage of the Traverse or to cut corners in expenditures. We are absent from that region because the risk of war is immense. We are constantly faced with that choice, Aria. To endure the occasional raid, or to perhaps enter all-out war. If you think I've changed since our first meeting, it is because I'm disillusioned. I know what goes on in this galaxy, and though it often troubles me, I must accept it and make decisions to the best of my judgement. That is all I can do. And no, the other politicians have not altered my perceptions of you over these years. You are still aggressive, selfish, arrogant, and aloof. And although I detest much of what you do and say at times, I am still fond of you."

Aria, who had not made any major adjustments to her position since the beginning of their conversation, moved her arm a tad. Something strange fleeted across her face, but Tevos was too preoccupied with considering the implications of her statement to pay it much heed. _Fondness_. That word had become a catalyst, a portent of danger paradoxically rising from a seemingly harmless term; one meaning mere affinity, but destined to end in trouble.

"Much more fond than what you'll find in any others within the Embassies, that is," clarified the councilor. "Let it be understood that I have no quarrel with you, Aria. I did not knowingly attack your 'investments', nor am I refusing to help you out of spite. Omega is still under heavy scrutiny by the Citadel, and the last thing I want to do is agitate relations. The most I could ever give you regarding the litigation is the possibility of eviscerating the corporations of their current administration and leaving them to sort through the wreckage. Even if I desired to do to more for them I probably could not. Do we still have peace?"

_"Sure,"_ said Aria, seeming to accept the councilor's explanation and offer, albeit with some disdain. _"But let me make it clear that I'm not going to give up this intel about the Lucen Dust without gaining anything from it. Either you trade me something else or wait for your incompetent Spectres to... wait for them to figure it out themselves."_

Tevos nodded, but paused when she noticed yet another curiosity. Aria sounded tired, nearly breathless, especially when she had fallen victim to a brief hiatus in the middle of a sentence.

_"You might find yourself in need of the intel soon enough... so prepare for that. Have something good ready for me just in case that happens. Your little Council is in the middle of a shitstorm, from what I've been hearing. Issues regarding the turian councilor... accusations of nepotism, right? And now you're supposedly favoring certain corporations. You might need all the help you can get to fix your reputation..."_

There it was again. The same breathless, enervated aspect, as if just talking was beginning to exhaust her; as if words were preventing her from properly filling her lungs. Perplexed, Tevos issued a pertinent question, "Aria, why do you sound short of breath?"

Aria was silent for a while, seriously contemplating her reply. _"I'm ill."_

"Ill?" Tevos repeated. It certainly suited all the clues the councilor had gathered. "Well I suppose that hinders your affairs, especially with everything currently happening on Omega."

_"What do you know about that?"_

"My _incompetent_ Spectres told me," Tevos began, satisfied with the frown appearing on Aria's face, "that your administration was under attack. They've also heard whispers among your many districts. Words of discontent, originating primarily from the lower class. The ignored. Some have been speaking vehemently against you, so I'm sure that's causing you a degree of trouble."

Aria appeared pensive, and what Tevos interpreted as concerned. It was an austere expression, suspending over a few seconds spent without uttering a single word. At its end, Aria lifted a hand to her face, veiling her eyes before dragging it down over her features in a distinctly weary motion. She was tense, mildly distressed, and... in discomfort.

"Aria, are you in pain?" Tevos asked her.

She was looking away now, and without meeting the councilor's eyes again, flatly replied, _"Yes."_

"Emotional pain? This news disturbs you?"

_"It's physical."_

Tevos was taken aback. "...That ill, are you?" she inquired, a hint of legitimate concern leaking through her tone. For Aria to actually admit to being in pain was already unusual, but for it to be affecting her ability to speak in any way was unnerving.

_"I was poisoned."_

This time, Councilor Tevos was rendered completely silent. She stared at Aria's hologram, studying the transparent representation of her face for clarification, for an explanation about how such a thing could have come to pass. Aria was severe, leering at her with pride to assert her clout despite her vulnerability. She was _daring_ Tevos to ridicule the convalescent, to mock her for being careless, but the councilor harbored no such vindictive ambitions.

She knew Aria did not _ever_ want to be pitied, but Tevos couldn't help but feel sorry for her. Just how much pain was Aria presently in, and how hard had she been trying to conceal it from Tevos? For her composed pretense to have noticeably faltered, it must have been awful. Compassion was permeating throughout the councilor's heart, as well as tiny hopes that Aria would soon regain her health. But more than anything, Tevos felt a reflexive pang of fear. For someone to have almost successfully taken Aria T'Loak's life... It was harrowing. "Should I let you rest, then?" she tentatively asked.

Aria briefly considered, then responded with a simple,_ "Yes."_

"Very well," said Tevos, suddenly finding it difficult to keep her voice within its usual range of volume. "Shall I contact you again in the near future?"

_"Why?" _Aria's tone was one of suspicion.

"Well... given the fact that you and I serve as the main proponents of peace between Omega and the Citadel, I have a large investment in keeping you alive. If your almost-assailants were to rise in your place, peace could easily become endangered. It's in my interest to help preserve you." When Tevos finished her elaboration, she maintained a highly professional front. Their relationship was, after all, founded upon mutually beneficial agreements. They were a mechanism designed to preserve concord between their territories. Allies and nothing more, not a vestige of whatever had happened years ago, or what it might have become. Dabbling in those thoughts produced corrosive ideas, hazardous memories whose reanimation or just prolonged acknowledgment could lead them to ruin. She refused to entertain them.

_"I'll contact you,"_ Aria said, emphasizing the reversal of their roles.

After the councilor gave an affirming nod, Aria disconnected, leaving Tevos alone in the comm room to reflect on what had occurred. For some reason, Aria had not obscured the nature of her illness with lies, and instead decided to reveal the truth to Tevos. But for what purpose? What did Aria gain by informing Tevos of her near-death experience? She hadn't appeared stronger or in control; on the contrary, she had given Tevos access to what could have been her lowest, weakest point in many, many years. She opened up and willingly submitted herself to Tevos' mercy. And yet, while she awaited the councilor's reaction and judgement, Aria had proudly tilted her chin upward, steeled her features, and boldly braced herself to endure and possibly battle whatever came after.

The more Tevos speculated, the more it became apparent that Aria had made another investment. Tevos was one of her most powerful allies (if not _the_ most powerful), and Aria had recognized the necessity of only having trustworthy people aware of _certain events_ transpiring on Omega. In essence, Aria had subtly insinuated that she might need help, and for her to have admitted to such a thing was just as extraordinary as it was frightening.

As Councilor Tevos exited the comm room, she continued to ponder on one final point. What had caused Aria more pain; the toxin ravaging her body, or reluctantly swallowing her pride?

Now within the immaculate corridors of the Embassies again, she crossed a short, low bridge over a small well-lit area with exuberantly growing plants beneath. After she had traversed the wide platform, someone rounded the corner heading in her direction, seeming entranced with whatever information was being displayed by the datapad in their hand. Tevos came to a gradual halt, awaiting their notice. However, when they passed her without a word or so much as an upward glance, Tevos folded her hands behind her back and cleared her throat.

The distracted asari immediately turned around, awareness lighting her eyes. "Oh, Tevos, I didn't see you." She approached her.

The councilor gave a warm smile. "What has you so preoccupied, Irissa?"

Irissa did not return the smile. Instead, she appeared annoyed and grim. "Have you been reading these unsubstantiated aspersions rampantly circulating the media and the extranet?"

"Tabloids, you mean," Tevos said humorlessly. "No, I haven't been reading them, and you shouldn't be either."

"Well someone has to," said her friend, shaking her head at the datapad.

"Yes, and we have plenty of lawyers tasked with detecting and addressing libel. You needn't burden yourself with their jobs."

"They may have made me an ambassador," Irissa said, looking up to meet her friend's eyes, "but I'm still the best damn lawyer the Citadel ever saw. Better than you, Tevos. You were _awful_ at it; I'm glad you jumped into politics at the first available chance. You would have suffered greatly."

Tevos raised a brow as she began to accompany Irissa toward wherever her destination lied. They crossed over the bridge again. "Well what do you suppose crippled me as a lawyer and uplifted me as a politician?"

"You, my friend," answered Irissa, "are not ruthless enough. However, as a politician it quickly became evident that you have an insufferable ability to make people fall in love with you just by offering them a smile. Do you realize how valuable that is in your occupation? Everyone noticed you immediately. They fell in love with your mild temperament and personal conservatism. It made you mysterious. Combine that with your family history, and you were like royalty. You were the sweetheart of asari space, a living monument to asari beauty, grace, success and all their other vain requisites for our elected public officials."

The councilor paused, her steps coming to a stop. Irissa stopped as well, confused by the halt. "Again... you insult me," Tevos said, words disconcerted, quiet, and highly reflective.

"I insult you?"

"Yes," Tevos replied, looking directly at her while her mind was clouded by thoughts. "You propose that the reason I hold my position is a result of superficial traits rather than my aptitudes and competency as a leader. As if I only stand as councilor because I was the product of... good breeding, or favoritism of electors. You spoke similarly during the turian councilor's ceremony."

"Tevos, I didn't mean anything bad by it," Irissa said. "I was only... making observations."

"You truly are a fantastic lawyer, Irissa," Tevos said, although lacking enough inflection to be considered an attack. It was more so a doleful remark. She began to turn back in the direction of her office.

Irissa grasped her arm, recapturing her attention. "Hold on, don't you go running off without at least allowing me to explain myself. Listen, I'm sorry for saying things that might not have sat well with you, and although I'm fairly certain there's a lot of truth in them, I never once commented on your competency as a councilor. Being elected with the help of frivolous factors acting in your favor, and turning out to be a good councilor are not mutually exclusive of each other. So what if you had an advantage? You had a lot of other things going for you as well. You're well-spoken, patient, and reasonable. You're dedicated to your job, you're a wonderful councilor, and I feel privileged to be your friend."

Tevos became contemplative for a while, regarding Irissa warily, but amicably. She ultimately decided to accept her explanation and praise. "I am simply... _disturbed_ by the notion of being a figurehead," she said. "That all of this—the product of my entire life up until this point – was generated by the whims of matriarchs, and not by my own accomplishments. I am not a puppet, a novelty, or some cosmetic installation to help the asari further their reputation amongst other species. I am _not_ an item. I am the most powerful asari official in inter-species affairs."_  
_

Her friend released her limb, affording Tevos a smile. "It's always a treat to see you assert yourself, Tevos. Albeit at your own expense; forgive me. But I agree with you. Let's say you _were_ elected to councilor based on your background. How does that matter now? It doesn't. If Asari High Command, the matriarchs, or whoever wanted a figurehead to manipulate, they should have chose differently. And if you were only a strategic, superficial installment of questionable merit—" Irissa showed Tevos her datapad, giving her the sight of a headline reading _Council Protecting Investments of Terminus Space Pirates,_ "—these... gutter press people... probably would've been able to acquire substantial material to produce caricatures of less outright _absurdity_."


	5. Progeny's Curses

**A/N:** As usual, thanks for the feedback, you guys are great! I might be updating slightly less often than usual since I'll be starting my next semester of school, which means I'll no longer have the same _obscene _amounts of free time like I've had for the past few months.

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[ **Chapter 5:** Progeny's Curses ]

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**NIRA'S CINEMA REVIEW — "Night Walker"**

_[This response contains sensitive, controversial subjects as well as spoilers for the aforementioned title. __Reader discretion is advised._]

_Night Walker_, a crime/mystery film directed by Tarya Ralir and starring protagonist Mara Eliasa [played by Neia Tallis], features the story of an an asari detective on Nevos following a grim string of seemingly inexplicable sudden deaths. Though the film reached the third spot in the galactic box office after its first week, raking in an generous 739 million credits, an onslaught of mixed reactions—harsh criticisms, met by others bearing adamant praise—exploded across the extranet.

The controversy originated in multiple sources: the plot, sensitive content, and what some have called a 'glorification of Ardat-Yakshi'. Yes, you read correctly, for those who haven't seen _Night Walker_, yet are still sticking around to finish reading this review—Ardat-Yakshi.

The plot itself refrains from revealing the involvement of an Ardat-Yakshi until the middle of the film, but before that, the viewer can do some detective work on their own. By piecing together the circumstantial evidence our charming, beloved, oblivious protagonist fails to immediately decipher [suspected brain hemorrhaging, victims found in their beds, no signs of struggle, etc.], one can usually attribute these mysterious deaths with the chilling work of an Ardat-Yakshi relatively easily.

Now, Detective Mara Eliasa has been suffering from insomnia since the deaths began [as she informs a psychiatrist], probably caused by nightmares of the multiple victims found peacefully in their bedsheets as if passing away in their sleep, which is a fear invading her own subconscious. The positive side of this ailment enables her to conduct more of her investigative work during the hours the murders take place. She takes advantage of her insomnia to go out on the town, asking around bars and nightclubs for suspicious persons or activities, all of whom only give meager aid, and to make matters worse, each of her informants is found dead within a few days.

The investigation remains fruitless. Until, that is, she encounters the enigmatic and beautiful Nephara [played by Endria T'Lias], who provides our detective with copious information, including the rumors of an Ardat-Yakshi. The two go on to talk and become romantically involved [which already invoked cringes because of common stigmas against asari-asari mating], but the social condemnation surrounding the pair is only reduced by the fact that Nephara is heavily suspected of _being_ the Ardat-Yakshi.

By that point, everyone is aware of Nephara's identity—the murderer. Correct? Not quite. If the film's plot was a source of controversy, it was for this very instance, which I recommend not be spoiled for those who haven't seen it and intend to. This is the final warning, the point of no return...

For those still sticking around, we find out the truth just when the film has the audience in hysterics as Nephara comes onto Detective Eliasa...

Only for Nephara to spontaneously die during their meld. Upon her death, the film reveals the missing scenes of Eliasa's life: the excuse of insomnia to forge an alibi or explanation for her nighttime activity, seducing and eliminating her other informants [whose provided evidence she destroys], and the continuation of her practice unbeknownst to her coworkers.

Though deceptive and slightly misleading, _Night Walker_'s unexpected twist was met with general praise, but that was the end of positive feedback, including from myself. The movie itself was well-scripted, well-cast, and well-shot. Excellent cinematography, soundtrack, and usage of theme produced an avant-garde gem, had it not been for its awful timing. As most know, only six months have passed since a handful of asari children were rescued from a small-colony village where an Ardat-Yakshi manipulated, murdered, and sacrificed almost the entire population for the purpose of self-indulgence and to aid her eventual disappearance.

The surviving children were the only known witnesses, some old enough to tell the terrible stories of what had befallen their town, and to their therapists' horror, the children seemed surprisingly untraumatized, even going so far as to recall the Ardat-Yakshi with reverence. It's unknown whether they will develop mental illnesses of any sort in the future, and for now they remain in psychological therapy and are being considered for adoption.

With this recent tragedy in mind, one can't help but cringe at _Night Walker_. The romanticization of a serial killer—an Ardat-Yakshi, no less—for entertainment purposes, leaves viewers with the bitter taste of guilt in their mouths by its final scenes, having unknowingly sympathized and fallen for Eliasa's effortless charms through the majority of the film. As a cinematic work, _Night Walker_ succeeds. As a social statement... it is tasteless and offensive. To give a definitive rating to this film is unwise, and I will not be issuing one because of these unusual, somewhat confounding factors. Buying tickets to view the film is a social statement itself, as it translates into what some people call 'apathy' toward murder victims, and so I leave it up to the readers to decide for themselves what course of action to take when approaching this hazardous work.

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:::

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Aria remained in the apartment for approximately three days, imprisoned by her poor health and the painful thorns hooking into her muscles during exertion; coiling around nerves like a biting snare and anchoring her into an undesired sedentary lifestyle. While the convalescent may have been displeased with the situation, her daughter actually managed to detect some vestige of goodness within those days, centered on the fact that for once, Aria's presence in the apartment was not a meager single-hour visit, but a prolonged, albeit forced stay. This facilitated conversation between the two. Occasionally, Liselle would walk past the room and catch Aria glaring at a wall, ceiling, or out the window in dreadful boredom, so she would come sit beside her and spend the following hours discussing whatever Liselle decided for them. She primarily told her mother about books and humorous anecdotes of things she could recall happening over the past few months. Although it was extremely difficult to elicit laughter (or even smiles) from Aria, she listened attentively to every word, and Liselle was delighted.

Among all subjects touched on, they did not talk about Liselle's future participation in the investigations.

When they were not talking, and when Aria was not sentenced to boredom, she would close the bedroom door, lock it, and presumably conduct business with those managing Omega's districts in her absence. More than once was Aria seen making her way through the apartment's front door, heading to the floor's shared comm room to make long-distance calls. She would always take a few commandos with her, and by the time Aria returned, the weariness had often crept back into her features, and her movements would decrease in speed and vitality. If Aria was any other person under any other circumstance, Liselle would have teased her about the way she toiled down the hallway like an old woman of non-asari origins, but her mother did not share her sense of humor, and so the maiden stayed silent. Aria was already irritable by each day's end. She didn't need to provoke her, especially since additional stress or anger wouldn't exactly improve Aria's health any amount.

Liselle almost exclusively brought her mother water or healthy beverages when she requested them. Evidently, Aria's paranoia had escalated since the incident in Afterlife, and despite Liselle's absolute certainty of uniform loyalty within the apartment, she understood her. Why take a chance at all? Liselle was present, and if Aria was to trust anyone with her weakened state, it would be her.

Once, after Liselle had delivered to Aria a glass of water, she took a seat at the foot of the bed, folding her legs beneath her, and watched her. It was a strange moment, as if an abrupt and severe disassociation between Liselle and the rest of the world had struck her, inspiring a level of curiosity within the girl that would normally only be found when observing something very unfamiliar. She watched as Aria sipped the water while reading from a datapad, propped up by a small stack of pillows. If her mother was aware of her scrutiny, she did not seem to care, or she was too absorbed in her own readings for it to matter enough.

Liselle struggled to make sense of the moment. She did not understand why Aria suddenly seemed so unfamiliar. She felt as if she hadn't met her until that exact instant, or if Aria had… somehow changed into an unrecognizable form. While Liselle attempted to decrypt her own cognitions, the silence blanketing the room brought a certain sound to her awareness. It was the subtle noises emitted by the fan in the wall, still rotating, squealing out little mutters of monotonous perdition, her own personal waiting room inside her head. It scraped against the inside of Liselle's skull and drove her mad, but it didn't seem to similarly affect Aria.

And why would it, Liselle thought? Aria would probably deny it, but she was a person of habit. She could settle into the insufferable sound, adapt to it, and cease to hear it as its irritating pattern gradually syncopated into normalcy. But Liselle could not. The sound was ever-present in her mind, only growing louder and louder until reaching raucous vociferations whenever the room went quiet and she paid the fan too much heed.

And then, all at once, her mental chaos suddenly fell into an orderly line, an artery of thought leading straight back to its own roots. Something was terribly wrong concerning her perception of Aria. Not precisely _wrong_, no, Liselle reasoned; but _lacking_. Slowly and surely, as she watched Aria down her glass of water, Liselle realized the inexplicable unfamiliarity that had struck her moments ago was not so strange. Aria _was _unfamiliar.

She didn't know her mother at all.

Aria had been the centerpiece for a single, reoccurring question throughout her childhood: _when will I get to see my mother again? _During Liselle's earliest years of life, Aria was the woman who held her and kissed her, regardless of infrequency, and back then, Liselle's love and respect for Aria was instinctual and self-evident. But now… although her love remained intact, it had changed. Not decreased, but simply transformed into something presently unrecognizable, something with different demands.

What had shocked herself into this new mindset, she wondered? Seeing Aria poisoned may have awakened inquisition, thus challenging her previously adolescent understanding of reality. That Aria was not who she once saw her as—not immortal. And so Liselle was left to redefine her mother, to ask herself, who was Aria now? If not an ultimate protector, she was merely another person susceptible to death, and if her persona was no longer filled with abstract traits of only glory and power, what exactly comprised Aria?

All those questions Liselle had always wondered about; whether Aria had fears, who her parents were and what her life was before Omega, why she came to Omega in the first place, and importantly, who Liselle's other parent was, were zealously resurrecting. Of course, she had asked Aria all these things multiple times before, but each time her mother would shake her head, look away, and say, "It doesn't matter."

But it did matter. It mattered now more than ever. The myriad questions were rapidly becoming less of idle ponderings and more so ones that _needed_ to be answered, not just to sate Liselle's curiosity, but to see Aria honoring an unspoken obligation. Aria only seemed to hide the information from Liselle because she was a child—at least, that was what Liselle believed—and didn't possess the capacity to understand, or could become horrified by the truth. That era had ended, however, and Liselle now awaited answers that Aria would still refuse to give.

She asked Aria while she sipped her water. Liselle mustered her courage, hardened her features to a staid, determined expression, and issued the first bold question of many others patiently waiting in queue, "Who was my father?"

Aria's eyes lifted to meet hers, but she did little else. After examining her daughter, reading her with the same startlingly invasive scrutiny that so easily exposed the intentions and motives of all who she looked upon, she replied as anticipated, "It doesn't matter," and returned to her datapad.

"It _does_ matter," Liselle disputed.

Without looking up again, Aria asked her, "Why does it matter to you?"

"Because… Because I have a right to know where I came from."

"You haven't answered my question," said her mother, distant as ever. "Why does it matter to _you?_"

"B-Because," Liselle stammered and silently cursed herself for doing so. She did not have a ready answer. "I…"

"What would change if I told you?" said Aria, lifting a finger to scroll through the text displayed on her device.

"I… just wanted to know, Mother," Liselle replied, her final words diminishing in volume as her statement ended.

Aria spared her a final glance, but said nothing more. Liselle wilted into frustrated dejection. She turned her body, brought her legs over the side of the bed, stood, and left the bedroom with a head full of confusion and self-reprimand toward her amateur lack of preparation. Whenever speaking with Aria, she had learned, one's ideas needed to be properly sorted out before verbally engaging her or Aria would completely dismantle any argument with a few words. Liselle had been impulsive, and before she even understood why she wanted to know her father's identity so badly, she had tragically fumbled her chances of acquiring any knowledge. Perhaps if she had pressed her mother, implemented more aggression in her meek persuasion attempt, she might have gotten further. But why hadn't she? Liselle didn't fear butting heads with Aria like everyone else did. Although the rate of defeat was high, the consequences were minimal.

As she strode somberly back into the hall, Liselle reflected on her non-combative approach. Maybe the topic of discussion wasn't meant to manifest as a fight. For what Liselle had requested from Aria was honesty and openness—symbols of love, and love was not obtained through aggression. Or was it, she wondered? From what she could tell, Aria usually only came to respect people who could put up an impressive fight, but there was a fine line between displaying independence and infringing on Aria's authority. She never quite grasped the minuscule nuances.

Even so, Aria continually denying her access to her immediate heritage was a brutal stave to the heart. Liselle simply could not understand her reasons. Was Aria protecting her from something? Was Aria merely avoiding the gateway to a subsequent conversation revealing Liselle's unpremeditated existence? She abhorred that possibility; not because it pained her, but because Aria would have been severely underestimating her intelligence if it were true. Liselle was not stupid. She had already acknowledged and accepted the high likelihood of her conception being accidental. As a child the notion once troubled her, made her occasionally feel like an unwanted burden with the sole, villainous purpose of impeding her mother's ambitions, but she had resolved by promising to herself that she would someday make Aria proud and prove to be useful enough to return all the time and effort spent on her in some form. She eventually realized the fault wasn't exclusively her own—Aria was, after all, more responsible for her existence than anyone else, and so the probability of being a 'mistake' did not presently haunt her as much as it once did.

She brooded during the hours after the short conversation with Aria, spending them with the commandos loitering around the main sitting room. She listened to them listlessly chat, but contributed little herself. Her mind was elsewhere, occupied with secrets, the words of Zuria regarding the dark natures of some, and wondering if there was a way for her to find out without having to directly confront her mother again. If there was ever an alternate route around challenging Aria, no matter its complexity, it was usually the easier route. But then… Aria always had good reasons for doing anything. Liselle began to reconsider her mother's reactions; would knowing really make a difference in her life? What if the story was sad or horrifying? What if Aria's past partner was a particularly awful individual, unsuited and undeserving of ever meeting their daughter? What if they were dead? Fifty years translated into _ages_ on Omega, especially for people in Aria's line of work. That was probably the case, Liselle thought. If her father was dead, what did it matter now? He or she would just be a meaningless name, an obscure, intangible, unrelateable vestige of someone who would no longer impact Liselle's life in the slightest, but whose memory might still plague Aria in some manner. Was Liselle being selfish while blundering into a question whose answer she may not be ready for, or one Aria was not ready to disclose? And was it truly her right to pursue the truth in defiance of any ill that could come with it?

When the time came to sleep for the night, Liselle quietly entered her darkened bedroom and joined the temporary second occupant of her bed, moving softly and slowly as to not disturb her. She was still distracted by the lingering questions, but she was not upset with her mother. Youthful impatience had tainted her thoughts, but she logically reasoned through it; in time, the answers would come to her. Like Zuria had said, secrets had a way of eventually revealing themselves regardless of how well they were guarded, and so, in another time, some point months or years from now, knowledge would inevitably find Liselle whether at the conscious decision of her mother or by a turn of fate.

She turned her head, peering through the inky shadows in the room, and her gaze fixed on the dark silhouette of Aria resting beside her. She was widely regarded as the single most dangerous person in the Terminus Systems, a ruthless crimelord with ominous ambitions. She was a sleeping drug lord, mob boss, pirate queen, Omega's CEO, and all the other diverse titles Liselle had ever read or heard. And yet, there was one title no one else ever used in reference to her, some part of Aria hidden away from the galaxy, yet ironically something Aria had allowed Liselle to know amidst all that she kept from her.

Aria was her mother, and that alone sufficed. It justified and explained the way Aria shielded her, protected her for years, but now that Liselle had arrived at a definitive threshold of adulthood, her mother's efforts were outliving their desirability. She was suffocating her daughter now, like an embrace grown too tight, and Liselle was fighting to pry her arms away, to escape into the hostile freedom of Omega's everlasting dusk, into secrets once forbidden, into the pursuit of self-sustainability and eventual happiness. So she leaned over and kissed Aria's cheek, thanking her for life, shelter, and love, but also gently rejecting the boundaries and restrictions imposed upon her child self. She had outgrown them.

After retreating and settling back down, preparing to sleep as well, Liselle spent a moment staring blankly at the ceiling. The sound of movement drew her eyes to the side. She felt a pang of guilt, wondering if she had disturbed her mother from sleep, but before she could ascertain whether that was true and if an apology was necessary, Aria had returned her gesture by pressing her lips to the side of Liselle's face. She had understood her daughter's message, and responded with her own.

Aria was well-versed in impermanence and finality. She realized that the child Liselle was gone forever now, never to be seen again after this instant, and so she lingered for a second longer than she normally would have, mimicking the way she used to kiss Liselle when she was only a few years old. She wasn't just her daughter anymore. She was her operative, her special agent soon to embark on a dangerous task to help ensure the preservation of Omega's currently ruling syndicate.

It was a goodbye.

Aria was saying goodbye to her little girl. Over the years Liselle had steadily shed pieces of adolescence, and this was the very last one—the last time Aria would regard her as a child.

* * *

:::

* * *

For the asari councilor, the past three days were spent conducting business as usual, except with the additional tasks of addressing the dismal surplus of public concerns about the lawsuits. Fortunately, a press conference held the previous day went much better than initially expected; she and Councilor Estulius provided the majority of the input, almost unconsciously out of a desire for reputational redemption in light of the connection between their family lines. Salarian Councilor Forlan generously permitted their two voices to dominate. He was incisive enough to realize their intentions.

While Tevos tried to remain politically neutral on the matter, only giving quantitative answers and near-verbatim examples of violated laws, Estulius incorporated a more personal and charismatic approach. He highlighted morals, breaches of integrity—and consequentially, was able to move the crowd to a level of ovation that was never granted to Tevos' replies. She didn't precisely agree with his approach, for although speaking to the emotions of the people gained him temporary favor, once his speech was dissected it would be discovered that it was nothing but… embellished palaver. Maybe he found that having Tevos' subsidiary deliverance of objective data opened an opportunity to sway their audience.

She thought the strategy was reckless. It reinforced her first impression of Estulius—a conspicuous aberration amongst the past turian councilors Tevos had worked with, and a far cry from his origins in the Maevian family, whom Tevos remembered to be incredibly grave, articulate, and unreceptive to anything but cold, bleak fact. It was almost comical, that he and Tevos were being attacked for having blood-ties. They were so patently estranged in terms of disposition; how could anyone possibly take the accusations seriously? It baffled her.

The other deviance from her normal, repetitive schedule was the inclusion of Aria. Tevos spoke with her on two other occasions, both days following Aria's initial revelation of her _inconvenienced _status. The crimelord was standoffish at first, even more so than usual, as if struggling or forcing herself to discuss the events leading up to her vulnerability. But through her words Aria carried an intonation of irrefutable necessity, to mitigate her accumulating paranoia by enveloping herself with allies in high places from which they could observe any impending danger. Like before, she swallowed her pride, and proceeded to outline her recent troubles.

First came the gruesome accounts of deaths in her administration. Her right-hand, mutilated and found floating in some vile culvert; an asari lieutenant, upper body shredded to ribbons from a detonated explosive hidden in her attire; and the most curious of all, the disturbing tale of the batarian Olat Dar'nerah, in which he was witnessed traveling through Afterlife when he was already dead. Tevos was hesitant in believing Aria. She knew it was very unlike Aria to relay potentially fallacious information (whenever she was uncertain of something, she made a clear note of it to communicate a larger need for prudence and the consideration of presently unidentified variables), but Tevos could not help but question the accuracy of the tale on multiple instances. Aria quickly became annoyed by the councilor's persistent skepticism, lifting a hand to rub her temple before irritably asserting that she had failed to make sense of the phenomenon as well.

With the bizarre event established between them, now assumed to have indeed happened for Aria's sake, they speculated. Why was that particular assassination so garish and exorbitant in comparison to the others? Whatever was done to Olat Dar'nerah to produce the ghastly scenario would've been expensive and overly sophisticated. What had they tried to accomplish? Were they trying to demonstrate their power, to scare Aria? And why had this mysterious enemy gone to such lengths to insult them all in the first place? They were obviously capable of inflicting massive damage without detection. If they had not been so spiteful of Aria for whatever reasons they had, they might have successfully killed her. Of course, Tevos did not say that bit aloud. The direction of their conversation had already presented that fact to Aria through inference, and Tevos did not desire to induce a session of bickering.

Another string of words running through her head which Tevos did not voice was Aria's arrogance and complacency likely being at fault; but the more Tevos pondered, the more that explanation failed to completely fit the circumstance. Aria wasn't any less paranoid than she was when Tevos first met her. But all it took was a single mistake, a single drop of trust misplaced in a single traitorous guard patiently waiting to make a move. So she couldn't entirely blame Aria, even if the menacing woman _had_ been particularly prideful lately, undoubtedly from riding the final victorious waves of lasting a full century on Omega's volatile throne.

Still... she felt small, periodic aches of pity while in talks with Aria, often roused whenever she began to sound breathless, or when tiny jolts of pain crossed her normally impassive features. Her health vastly improved from day to day, gradually shedding pallor and stiffness, and by their third conversation, Aria showed few signs of discomfort.

And Tevos found it slightly odd and unnervingly nostalgic; they way they conversed with the sudden frequency only reminiscent of a time many years ago when they were at odds, teetering on the edge of a major conflict between their territories with only their common goals of avoiding a war able to propagate cooperation. When they had allied, it felt quite natural in practice, but whenever Tevos distanced herself from her own perspective to view the situation from an impartial, logical viewpoint, she would always feel strange waves of nausea wash over her. She felt it deep in her stomach, heavy like anxiety, and dark like fear. The feeling only worsened the closer they became, and reached its abject zenith on the day they last met in person. Tevos soothed her own nerves by promising herself that she would never have to experience the strange illness again.

But after their private calls, the illness returned, though twisted into a slight variant. The anxiety and fear were still present in full strength, but a third component tainted its previous incarnation. It was... a unique fuss, pleasant yet severely troubling and alarming; becoming most prevalent whenever Aria cast her a certain leer while the councilor took her turn to speak. She knew Aria was listening to her, proven by her pertinent replies, but prior to them, Tevos couldn't help but notice something peculiar in her gaze—a subtle absence, wandering attention, then suddenly Aria was there all once, watching her finish her statement as if she were carefully puncturing the councilor with many needles, one by one. They were almost tangible. She could feel them pricking her, invasively crawling along her skin, but she never allowed herself to make any sign of perturbation.

She knew what it was, and it nearly sent her into panic.

"Why doesn't anyone complain about your friend?" Aria had asked when the austerity of their conversation diminished into a somewhat casual exchange. She was referring to Irissa, whose friendship with the asari councilor since university was never kept secret. "The turian councilor, a man you've never personally met before in your life until now, is suddenly your supposed affiliate in a family-based conspiracy, but a friend you've known for centuries receives absolutely no aspersion for continually rising in ranks under your supervision?"

"Irissa and I were once candidates for the councilor position," Tevos had begun to explain. "Since we ran against one another, the public must have understood our independence. And since we were both viable candidates, Irissa had already demonstrated her political competency. Her subsequent career path was anticipated and there wasn't much of a reason to suspect any help from myself. Not to mention that she's been working in the Embassies for years now, while Councilor Estulius is a new addition. And as we both know, changes are often met with more... explosive reactions."

"How are you still friends?" Aria inquired. "She didn't hold a grudge after losing?"

"No, Aria," Tevos said. "We're both adults. We don't throw tantrums and shoot at each other when we lose."

Aria gave a slight smirk, though it, like the majority of her recent sentences, seemed tainted by weariness. "Much unlike some casinos on Omega; that's why there's so few successful ones. No one ever wins in the end. Not even the house."

"What are you talking about?" the councilor had inquired with humor tinging her voice. She was able to comprehend what Aria had meant, but not quite the connection between Tevos' statement and Aria's following one. Apparently, 'throwing tantrums and shooting at each other when one lost' had led Aria to the mental image of an Omegan casino, which was probably more akin to a fighting pit from what she said.

"Nothing," Aria stolidly replied, likely becoming aware of her own tiredness. "Forget it. I need to go."

"To sleep, correct?" Tevos cleverly presumed, but only received an unamused frown from Aria, who replied with an insipid _n__o_ before disconnecting.

She was lying. The councilor had found another smile tugging at her lips as she abandoned the vid comm console, and it remained on her mouth for a long while. Until she realized what it implied.

The smile, despite its relative innocence, frightened her. It was utterly _terrifying, _along with the needle-pricks across her flesh, the intrusion of memories, and the results of observing Aria, who was tired, underdressed to grant a more visible outline of her body, her shoulders and collarbones exposed, and arms free from their usual coat of white leather. The last time Tevos had seen Aria like that—lacking the main components of her normal ensemble while a bit breathless—they were fervently writhing on the sofa in her office.

Like always, Tevos had to pause, shut her eyes for a moment, and actively remind herself to not entertain thoughts of that nature. It happened far too often. _Fifty years_ had passed. That was more than enough time for the attraction to fade, and there were many months during which Tevos never thought about it at all. But whenever Aria showed up, thoughts of their licentious past were revived with such vivid detail that it felt as if only a few days had passed since their last encounter.

And what of Aria herself? Had she been able to banish the memories from her mind? She couldn't have. An event with that much potential as a horrible scandal and involving someone with as much galactic importance as the_ asari councilor_ didn't just miraculously vanish from one's conscience. Aria must have thought about it on occasion. Perhaps during their conversations, when spans of silence would have her giving Tevos those weird leers, but never saying anything to reveal what was happening inside her head. Was she thinking about it? But if she was, it was quite peculiar that Aria never brought it up. She could've easily weaponized it against the councilor as material for insults, but she never did. Why was that so?

Tevos couldn't fathom her reasons.

Nevertheless, she was still a bit glad Aria didn't talk about it. It was just an impulsive mistake, an _awful_ mistake, possibly the worst Tevos had made in centuries. They got carried away, swept up in the excitement of engaging in something immensely taboo with a forbidden individual. But in the end, it was childish and selfish, demanding to be stopped for the sake of duty. Tevos could _not_ condone or continue to participate in something like that. So when Aria departed, she kept her far away thenceforth. It had been a wise decision to do so. Their recent correspondences had brought the baleful notions to mind, thankfully in the form of wonder rather than outright desire. Tevos profoundly hoped they had outgrown it. She _prayed_ that they had outgrown it.

After all, as history had proven, whenever they were put in the same room they either started conspiring or touching things they weren't supposed to.

The asari councilor was able to clear her head of the distracting clutter for the next few hours, but during the petitions later on in the day, her mind began to wander anew. Not exclusively to Aria herself, but more to their unfortunate situations. While the salarian councilor drawled on about something in exasperating detail, Tevos immersed herself in a review of the data she and Aria had presented to each other, minus the identity of the persons behind the Lucen Dust influx, which Aria was still miserly holding onto. She was making lists, tallying up their problems, cross-referencing them, supposing possible explanations and courses of action...

And suddenly, something occurred to her. Multiple things, rather.

For the remainder of the petition, Tevos' usual mediating input was nearly absent. She was away, with vacancy in her eyes and distance in every parsimonious word spoken over the next half hour. Only when the assembly was dismissed was Tevos able to resurface from her distraction by returning to her office to inform her correspondent of what was plaguing her. As soon as she was once again in the solitude of her workspace, Tevos brought up her omni-tool, accessed her mail client, opened a blank message template, and briskly began to type into the holo-interface.

.

TO: ARIA T'LOAK  
FROM: TEVOS N'VANI  
SUBJECT: A correlation you may find interesting.

I would have contacted you via vid comm, but since you've proven to be quite elusive to get an immediate hold of, and because this is comparably high-priority, I have defaulted to these means of contacting you so that you may receive this information as soon as possible.

My first point of interest regards the resurgence of Alunigen B2. When the first reports of its presence on Citadel streets erupted, our initial suspicions linked you to its source, as you remember. Relations were jeopardized, and the Council, as well as Asari High Command, were utmost displeased. You disavowed involvement, but evidence gathered by Spectres continued to contradict your claimed innocence. Of course, the evidence was not substantial grounds for a formal accusation, but it was enough to keep you as our primary suspect.

While said Spectres prowled the Traverse for new leads, they came upon massive piles of incriminating evidence exposing three corporations for abhorrent misconduct and law infringements. Corporations which you recently gained ties to and invested in, as you've pointed out, resulting in large amounts of credits becoming endangered as a direct cause of the Council's decision. You reacted with outrage. I know not how the Spectres came across the 'spontaneous' surge of evidence, so I wonder if it was deliberately, and furtively, handed to them.

This, combined with your current troubles on Omega, paints quite a meretricious picture of coincidence. Along with deaths in your administration, is it possible for your unidentified enemy to be attempting to sever ties between you and your most powerful allies, and/or turning them against you? I ask, have you encountered any other recent situations wherein formidable allies have deserted or fallen?

I fear all these events are connected. Although it remains unproven, I don't believe you can afford to ignore this correlation. The identification of the Alunigen B2 smugglers may be, or are affiliated with, your enemy. If you pass that intelligence onto me I may be able to provide additional means to silence them, as they are also considered enemies of the Citadel. Do not be greedy, Aria. You must be reasonable.

I await your exigent reply.

.

With her message complete, Tevos sent it. The glow of her omni-tool faded from sight as she reclined in her chair, bringing her hands together in a pensive fold, and determined what work needed to be completed next.

* * *

:::

* * *

Aria had departed sometime during the last night, only leaving behind orders for the commandos and a note to Liselle, informing her of the time and location where she would have to be present for her briefing. Liselle felt her heart beat faster with anticipation when she realized the briefing was scheduled for that very afternoon. She spent the morning preparing, and whenever she crossed beneath the gazes of any other residents within the apartment, she felt their exuded concerns, like tangible thick blankets settling down onto her shoulders, and she was only able to shake them away after escaping into another room. None of them condoned Liselle or Aria's decision to let her go, but to question the combined orders of their boss and the will of her daughter was a terrible trespass and borderline subversion. They had no choice but to accept the turn of events.

Zuria joined Liselle in her bedroom when she was pulling her boots on. The maiden was already clad in the commando leathers she used for training, and the pistol Zuria had leant her was fastened to her belt. Liselle looked over at her mentor as Zuria took a seat in the chair set against one wall, folding her hands together and pensively hunching over, eyes directed at the floor.

"Are you ready?" she asked Liselle. The question addressed the girl's mental state more than her physical, as it was quite obvious that she was finishing her regiment.

"Yes," affirmed Liselle, standing up straight after both boots securely encased her feet.

Zuria nodded in understanding, pausing for a while to gather her words. "You know what to do if you get into trouble? You remember what I told you?"

"Send them flying and run," Liselle recited. "And if I can't run, keep throwing them until they stop moving."

"Perfect strategy if you ask me," Zuria said, managing a small smile. Her gaze traced Liselle's motion of lifting a pack from the bed and slinging the single strap over one shoulder and her head. "What are you bringing?"

"Things for emergencies," she replied, giving the matron the usual questioning, alert brightness in her eyes. "Some medical supplies, spare provisions, a few personal devices."

Zuria rose from her chair. "Be wary of pickpockets. If you feel any tugs, turn around and deck them."

Liselle let out an amused breath. "Of course."

"Are you carrying any knives? Just in case?"

The girl extended her forearm, pressing forward onto her sleeve. The familiar glint of a thin metal blade protruded from a discreet slit in the wrist area.

Zuria nodded again, feeling proud of Liselle, but that pride quickly sank into apprehension. Liselle could see the grave worry seeping into her features, exposing the existence of many comments withheld out of respect.

"What's wrong?" Liselle asked.

"...When I first left home to do mercenary work, I was sixty-seven." She brought a hand to her mouth, covering it to think before resuming. The other rested on her hip. "I was scared for the first few weeks. Terrified. I had years of commando training and I was eager to get out there, but… training doesn't prepare you for reality. It never does."

Liselle carefully watched her, listening intently as she idly grasped the strap slung across her chest with one hand. She knew what Zuria was getting to; she was going to try to discourage her without technically defying Aria. Her reasons were very understandable, but Liselle had already made up her mind and would not change it to appease anyone else, no matter how much she cared for them. This was Liselle's life, and she wanted to gain control over it at last.

"Why did you decide to do this?" Zuria asked her, skirting around implications of recalcitrance, and adhering to more tactical dissuasion.

The maiden looked away, a habit of temporary restraint and self-management undoubtedly inherited or learned from her mother, and spent a few moments piecing her reply together. "I wanted to do something for once, instead of just rotting away here, useless."

"You're not useless," said Zuria, her tone sincere, albeit somewhat exasperated. "You've_ never_ been useless. I understand that you want to go out and create a life and possible occupation for yourself, but… this is really drastic, Liselle. This is _dangerous_. Jumping into something like this right at the start could easily overwhelm you, and no one wants to see that happen."

Liselle exhaled, folding her arms across her chest. "No one wants me to do this. I get that. But I've made up my mind. I'm going to help my mother, because she needs people who she can trust. If you asked her to give names, how many people do you think she could list who are loyal with absolute certainty?"

"She wouldn't list any." The matron's expression became dire. "Not even you."

Her brow reflexively furrowed.

"There is no such thing as certainty. Not for Aria. She can't afford to be certain about anything. That's the nature of her work, and what you might not realize is that she plays a constant game of probability." Zuria strode away a few paces, seeming to be uncomfortable with their topic of discussion. "Money and rewards. Threats and eliminations. Drugs, luxuries, protection, war, resources… All these things influence the odds, and Aria controls them in a way that benefits those who serve her and destroys those who oppose her. It doesn't matter how well she's thought out something. In the end, Aria's always gambling." She turned around to face Liselle again, her back to one corner of the room. "And the same goes for deciding to put you on the board. You're not good to have out there, Liselle. You change the game, start skewing things. Aria can't bribe you or threaten you. She can't properly control you like she does everyone else, and yet she fears what could happen to you. We _all _fear what could happen to you."

Liselle was silent.

"And so what if she can trust you?" Zuria said, a significant amount of emotional investment leaking through her voice. "So what if there's a near-zero chance of your betrayal? That still doesn't make you an asset. Having you out on Omega and in danger only hurts Aria; causes her to worry and possibly expend additional means to ensure your safety, things that she wouldn't do for anyone else. People _die_ doing investigative work here. There are no laws to protect you, and people aren't fond of others meddling in their business. Do you really think you're suited for this? Are you just trying to help your mother? You can help her in different ways, Liselle. She doesn't expect you to do any of this. She doesn't _want_ you to do this." She stopped, realization alighting in her face. "Liselle, does this stem from… guilt? Do you feel guilty about not being directly useful to Aria?"

"This isn't about her!" Liselle snapped, suddenly throwing a glare at the other asari. Her hands balled into fists. "So what if this is hard for her? You know what's hard for me? Being her daughter! I'm _Aria's daughter_ and hardly ever _Liselle_. Not an independent identity, not someone who can choose what they want to do without first having to consult five other people! I love my mother and I do want to help her, but that's not the only thing I think about! Omega's my home too, and whatever happens now is going to affect my future. If things get worse—if someone manages to kill my mother, or if her control is threatened or damaged—I'm also going to feel the results." She gestured emphatically toward herself. "I have _every right_ to determine my own fate. I've been understandably denied that my entire life, but not anymore. I won't just sit around doing nothing when I _know_ that I'm capable of contributing! I'm Liselle T'Loak and no one's going to prevent me from making something of myself! No one! Not my mother, and not you!" By the time she had finished, Liselle's shoulders were slowly heaving with every breath, the countless cells in her flesh filled to their brims with audacity.

Zuria was staring at her with a blend of shock and curiosity, as if her cognitive processing of the outburst had briefly stalled. She sighed. "You know, Liselle… I suppose you're right." She left the junction of the two walls behind and approached the girl, placing a hand on her shoulder and examining her hardened expression. "You… You're right. This is your life and you deserve to choose what you do with it."

Liselle's adamant glower relaxed.

The matron, keeping her hand on the girl's shoulder, remained there for a moment without speaking. She then abruptly gave a short, hollow laugh. "You really are Aria's daughter." She smiled a bit mournfully. "Sometimes I forget that. I really shouldn't. You see, whenever Aria sets her mind to something… it happens, simple as that. I guess the same can apply to you, so you're right." She hesitated. "It would truly be a crime to imprison a T'Loak, after all. It goes profoundly against their natures."

The maiden's countenance grew apologetic. "I'm sorry," she said on impulse, feeling quite bad for shouting at Zuria, who was obviously very understanding of her position despite her disagreement with it. She didn't deserve that treatment; a civil argument would have been much more appropriate.

"Don't be sorry," Zuria said, releasing her shoulder. "You were completely right and I needed to be reminded of my place. I shouldn't be questioning your mother like that. You've both made a decision and I need to respect it." She looked upon the girl, comprehending her appearance. Liselle was a commando in every visible respect; combat attire, a gun, and determined eyes adorning a bold young girl ready to leap into the fight for her home like so many others of youth, smitten by the deceptive grandeur of war, and disguising their juvenile ardor with words of duty. It was a deadly disease, hallucinogenic in nature, and there was no cure save for time and revelation. Liselle needed to do this herself.

"I should inform you of something," Zuria began anew, feeling that she owed the maiden inclusion of the ongoing events. "I'll be joining your mother's administration for a while. I once told myself I would never do this again, but right now I need pitch in, and since you'll be gone in the meantime… I don't have much of a job, and Aria needs old loyal friends now more than ever. So if things get bad, you have the comfort of knowing that I'm in this too, and you can also come to me if you're ever in any trouble."

Liselle nodded, appreciative of her mentor's generosity and devotion. "Did she say anything else? Is she replacing a lot of them?"

"Yes. People are being shuffled around, but Aria knows what she's doing."

She inclined her head, grasping the strap of her modest pack again. There wasn't much else to say to her mentor, who continued to peer at her with the determination of one who was burning the sight of something into her mind. She was taking a mental photograph of Liselle, crystallizing the image of the girl in her memory after being struck by the possibility of never again having the chance to do so. Liselle was not particularly fond of that—it was morbid and slightly insulting toward her capabilities, and the fact that it was coming from her mentor only added to the unintentional offense.

"So… you're ready?" Zuria tentatively asked the same question from earlier, whose answer was still the same. "You're leaving now?"

"Yes," Liselle replied. "I need to be there in a little less than an hour from now."

"You have credits? For cab rides and everything you might need?"

"Plenty."

Zuria shifted her weight to her other foot, appearing anxious. "Well… I suppose I shall see you soon, Liselle. Hopefully this first mission, whatever it might entail, will send you home again within a day or two. If we're lucky, maybe I'll see you tonight."

Liselle hadn't felt any pain toward the prospect of leaving until that moment. Previously, she was too excited and preoccupied with battling the judgment of her mother and her other supplementary guardians, and so the magnitude of her departure hadn't the chance to catch up to her. But now it forcefully hit her all at once, and the woe currently seeping into Zuria's eyes did little to mitigate the feeling. It could not change her mind, however. She didn't reconsider for an instant. Instead, she afforded the matron a weak smile, requesting Zuria's faith in her while attempting to lift her spirits. Fortunately, she smiled in return.

Before Liselle left her bedroom, she stole one last glance around her living space. The humble rectangular dimensions of the room, the warm fiery hues illuminating the sparse, geometric furnishings, a fake plant in one corner, her orderly desk, the lonely armchair facing the foot of the bed, and the bed itself. Although she hadn't become too attached to the apartment during the brief time spent in it, the furniture always followed their moves, and helped served as a source of familiarity and the amorphous definition of home. As she turned to the door, Liselle found one thing that she did not dread parting from: the softly-squealing fan mounted in the upper wall, forever taunting her state of indolence, of isolation and limbo. She left it behind in stride.

The dosage of celebration faded, however, when she emerged from the hallway and into the main sitting room. The remaining occupants of the apartment were all assembled to see her off. They were on their feet, standing in a single, neat row; the way they stood for Aria whenever she was directing them.

At the start of their line was Iaera, hands neatly folded behind her back, but her downcast eyes were involuntarily glistening. She said nothing. She was condemned to silence, forbidden to intervene, sentenced to swallow her grief without comment. Liselle paused, meeting Iaera's sorrowful eyes before bringing her arms around the matron in an embrace. The action was returned, accompanied by a hushed sob against her shoulder. When Liselle drew away, she kissed her cheek and squeezed her hands, expressing her boundless gratitude for all she had done for her over the years. Although Iaera was not her mother, Liselle still loved her like family, and despaired to see her weep.

When she parted from her, she looked to the commandos who nodded respectfully, wishing her luck. She saw their eyes as well. All irises were worriedly swimming with personal memories, flashbacks to the times when they also first leapt out into the wide galaxy with hearts full of their respective ambitions and potentials; headfirst into the resulting broken fairytales and throttled childhood dreams, crushed by the harsh reality that could only be known through disabusing experience.

The galaxy was not a benevolent place. There were no good things easily awaiting her, especially on Omega. Here, suffering and death was rampant and expected. Omega was the quintessence of the universe's merciless nature, bereft of synthesized safety unlike its Citadel counterpart. Omega, like the enclosing void, was apathetic, hostile, and only bound by the basic laws of physical limitations and survival of the fittest.

The commandos sympathized with her. They wished unto her silent blessings, beseeching the proverbial goddess to see Aria T'Loak's noble daughter through her perilous tasks, but that was all they could pray for.

Not even Athame's immaculate blessings seemed to penetrate Omega's pernicious metal hide.

* * *

:::

* * *

TO: TEVOS N'VANI  
FROM: ARIA T'LOAK  
SUBJECT: Re: A correlation you may find interesting.  
ATTACHMENT: HOLO1, HOLO2, HOLO3, VID1, VID2

You've proposed a decent point. I'll take it into consideration.

The drug network's base is bunkered down in Kite's Nest, the Indris System, on a planet called Camala. It's in Batarian Hegemony territory. Not a colony, but it's still theirs, and may become a colony in the future. If the base is on Camala with the permission of the Hegemony, I can't touch them without risking a serious conflict. Neither can you.

However—if the Hegemony doesn't know they're there, you should inform their higher government and convince them to send their people to either kick the drug producers out or eliminate them. If you play it right, the Hegemony could end up doing all the dirty work for you. Now, although I'm nearly certain their base is indeed on Camala, an unusual amount of activity in the Terminus Systems leads me to believe that they either have very efficient routes of distribution, or they've split into two separate locations. The latter is more probable. For now we'll focus on what we have.

I've attached some of the evidence my special agents gathered as well as exact coordinates. It should be enough, and if it isn't, take my word for it. They're there. We have no specific names as of now, just proof of location and activities.

Go about this how you will. If they're my enemy or simply linked to them, I need to confirm it first before even thinking about attacking them. The last thing I need is to get the Hegemony pissed off at me while I'm dealing with everything else. You have batarian ambassadors, correct? Get them on this, see if the Hegemony knows about their little fugitives. If they do... have fun with that political tribulation. But if they don't, then you can probably settle this with a bit of pressure.

Get back to me when you apprehend the Hegemony's position.

.

After reading over Aria's reply, Tevos averted her eyes from the text at a pang of slight indignation. It originated in her chest's center, steadily spreading out until reaching her head, where she made sense of the intuitive negative reaction. Here Tevos had expended ample time analyzing their situation, even taking it upon herself to generously alert Aria of her conclusions, and the pirate queen had thanked her by virtually tossing what could only be interpreted as orders at her face, poorly hidden in a package containing the intelligence she requested. Of course, the councilor was glad to have the information in hand, but for Aria to have delivered it in such a disrespectful manner...

She canted her head ever so slightly while closing her eyes, letting the feeling pass. She was upset over nothing. After all, it was Aria T'Loak who she was dealing with. It was foolish of her to have expected anything else. In Aria's mind, she was the royal monarch overseeing all her little pawns, and she was quite content to remain within that delirious reverie. Attempting to pull her from it would be futile, and so Tevos was burdened with accepting her intractability and addled perceptions.

She sighed, mediating her curious descent into further offense. Tevos was not quite sure why she was so frustrated with Aria's reply, and so she gave it some thought. Perhaps it had been bred from the mute power struggle they initiated the very first time their eyes had met, the insatiable desire to put the other in check, to emerge as the dominate authority. And when Aria regarded her with condescension, syntax and word choices devoid of the utmost respect the councilor was accustomed to, the struggle instantaneously burned back to life.

Aria was trying to use her like she did everyone else, and Tevos was not appreciative of it. The very worst part was that Tevos _would_ be consulting the batarian embassy, and that she _would_ go on to take the problem to the Batarian Hegemony, seemingly at Aria's behest whether she was intentionally communicating obedience or not.

_You're insufferable_, Tevos thought in regards to Aria. _You're insufferable and I always find myself working with you. For that—duly insufferable._

Tevos made to reply to the message, planning on condemning Aria's tone and demanding more courtesy next time, but before she could even start typing, the door to her office disengaged and slid open with its audible chime and hiss. Her eyes immediately drew upward, wondering who _else_ intended to insult her with an unannounced entrance, but the sight of a familiar face curbed the worst of her disdain. As her guest took the liberty of sitting down in the chair set before the councilor's desk, Tevos closed the mail client and addressed her, "Irissa, I'd really appreciate it if you'd let Eleni know when you intend to make spontaneous visits. Or knock. Any prior announcement at all, really. I might just revoke your ID-keyed access if you can't do that."

"What has you so vexed?" Irissa said defensively, unable to see any harm done by her presence.

"Nothing, never mind it. What did you need?"

The ambassador produced something, placing it onto Tevos' desk. It was... paper of high quality, neatly folded shut and sealed with a silvery stamp whose tiny, regal emblems were instantly recognized. Tevos' gaze darted back up to find Irissa's. "What is this?" she cautiously asked her.

"Your mail," answered her friend, sounding quite pleased with herself for some reason. "Well go ahead; read it. It's been screened for harmful substances already, so stop looking at it as if it were a dead animal."

"I only find it repugnant for what it might contain inside," Tevos said rather grimly. She reached out to the letter, taking it in hand, and examined the seal for a few moments before breaking it. She noticed something odd about it—the seal didn't seem properly adhesive, but it had been a while since she handled physical documents, so she thought little of it. After laying it flat on her desk, she began to read:

_Our beloved Tevos N'Vani,_

_You have been cordially invited to the 12th centennial gathering of our extended common heritage and close friends, to take place on 19.2.2081 in the N'Yiria Argent Estate, Kynias, Thessia, from the hours of 11:00—19:00 (GST). We would be most delighted to see our esteemed family member attend this renowned event, as they are not only rare occurrences, but also lavish and certainly appealing to all attendees. Just as well, the reconnection to persons unseen in decades has proven to be the most lovely and anticipated feature of these gatherings, and your presence would be greatly missed if absent._

_A copious banquet of__ food and drink will be provided. Dextro-amino variants will be available in proper abundance._

___Dress code—formal. We remind our guests (particularly those who wish to congregate in the gardens) that the weather at this time in Kynias is frigid, and the region is expecting the first snows of winter within the next month._

___Bringing additional guests (up to 3 other persons) is encouraged. _

___We hope for your attendance and enjoyment. For any additional questions regarding the party, please contact Farala N'Yiria or Galieta N'Yiria._

The invitation ended in a short series of contacts and miscellaneous information, which Tevos did not bother with reading. She was quiet for an unusual interval of time, during which Irissa peered at her with curiosity.

"I once believed I was no longer included in these events," Tevos said, "as I haven't received an invitation since I was a maiden."

"Your family just forgot about you?" Irissa asked sardonically.

Tevos shook her head in thought, but slowly developed a small crease in her brow. "Why does it seem like you knew exactly what this letter contained before even bringing it to me? I did not read it aloud if I remember correctly."

Irissa shrugged.

The councilor exhaled. "I suppose it matters not. But in answer to your question—no, they did not forget about me. I know you once met my mother long ago, and a few cousins at one point, I believe, but never anyone from the main artery of my bloodline, so to speak. N'Vani and N'Yiria became kindred over the last millennium through an 'unconventional' pairing, so you can already imagine the hesitance in regarding the resulting generations as part of both houses. I was included with few issues, but when I signed over the inheritance my father left me to my sister Iona, I suspect they were very disapproving of that decision. They said nothing to me, but I no longer received invitations to their extravagant parties." She adjusted the placement of her invitation, then folded her hands neatly together. "I don't deny my family's greed. It's quite evident. The press hounding Estulius and me for answers is understandable, though misguided, as I hardly affiliate myself with my relatives anymore."

"You hardly affiliate yourself with anyone, Tevos," Irissa said, attempting to bring up the councilor's solitary habits as a point of humor. Unfortunately, its effect on Tevos' serious mood was minimal. "So... what are we looking at? Now that you're the asari councilor, you've 'redeemed' yourself to them? They want you at their parties again?"

She gave a solemn nod.

"That's despicable."

"I can see no other explanation," said Tevos, gradually rising from severity and into wryness. She reclined in her chair, fingers interlaced with her thumbs thoughtfully pressing together. "My mother, affluent herself, married an extremely affluent man. But it was... strange of my father to have specifically left his companies to his children rather than his mate, who received no official ownership at all. A bit of investment returns, but not the heart of his wealth: his businesses. Those went to his children. I wondered about that since I was young—why Ralleus did that. If he was trying to keep his companies out of the hands of my family, he should have left nothing to me."

"Maybe he trusted you," Irissa offered. "I don't want to say anything against Theralia, but maybe he didn't exactly trust her as much. Maybe he believed she was just after money and influence like the rest of your family seemed to be."

"That's possible, but not quite in alignment with what I remember about my mother," Tevos said. "She was a little vain at times and had expensive tastes, but she wasn't precisely enraptured with wealth. My extended family was known for charity balls—probably just a ploy to keep a positive connotation on their names—and I recall those being one of the few things my mother voluntarily involved herself with. Of course, it's always been a point of irony, since all the money spent on hosting them could've been sent to charity in the first place, but they always raised something. She saw to that, even made generous contributions herself. Overall, my mother's relationship with our family could best be described as... reluctant participation. Surely my father saw that. I suppose it's not of much consequence anymore, as I doubt I shall ever know the reasons behind his decisions." She corrected her posture to its usual straightness. "Either way, I won't be attending their gathering."

"Uh, hold on," said Irissa, who was apparently answering a call from someone. She looked away from Tevos, bringing two fingers to her earpiece. "...Oh, _great_." Blatant sarcasm. "Thanks. No, I meant it. Thanks, I appreciate you telling me. Okay."

"Who was that?" Tevos asked after Irissa ended the call.

The other asari hesitated. "...It was Councilor Estulius' attaché. I ran into him while he was picking up some special mail for Estulius, and he asked me if I knew anything about a letter with an asari-emblem seal."**  
**

Any positivity lingering in Tevos' face vanished at once.

"So I took a look at it, but I didn't recognize it. Then he told me that he saw another like it being screened at the same time, but it was going to Councilor Tevos. So I told him to wait there and called up your attaché to tell her I'd get your mail for you. She was perfectly happy with that." Irissa continued in spite of Tevos quietly saying _o__ur protocols are too lax_, "The turian kid and I went off to compare the letters, quickly realizing they were invitations of some sort. So I... I uh, took a look at yours."

"You really did read my mail."

"I couldn't help myself!" Irissa said. "It was terribly suspicious and I was merely looking out for you, Tevos. I know all about it now anyway." She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. "Estulius' attaché and I realized that we had something of a haphazard situation on our hands, so he promised to give me a call after Estulius read his."

"What did he tell you?"

"Well... Estulius was invited to your family's gathering. And he's attending."

Tevos stared at Irissa in disbelief. "He's already decided? Why? He didn't think to speak with me first?"

"Apparently not. His attaché told me Estulius called Farala N'Yiria and they had a quick conversation, during which he confirmed his attendance."

The councilor raised her hand to squeeze the bridge of her nose between her thumb and index finger. The motion was known to Irissa as highly indicative of acute distress or fatigue. "They're all fools," Tevos said hollowly. "My family. Estulius. They are all fools." She lowered her hand. "Are they deliberately trying to destroy us? Does Estulius even realize what will be said if he attends that party? It'll be..." She failed to voice a suitable word, but one term continuously flitting about her thoughts was _catastrophic_.

"Will you go in light of this new information?"

"Absolutely _not_," Tevos replied, looking at her friend as if she had lost her mind. "It would only give the media more fodder; another opportunity to accuse Estulius and me of elitism."

"Again, I may be playing the role of a mediator," Irissa began, "but if you _don't go_, won't that appear as though you have something to hide?"

"It's better than obvious association."

"If I were in your situation... I'd go," she admitted to the councilor. "Either way, the link between him and your family drags you along for the ride. If you're absent, it doesn't matter—you're still one of them. One of their brood, one of their _fronts_, if I may put it that way, probably just trying to cover your own tracks. But if you went, you might be able to confront the rumors directly. Based on the logic that no crooked politician would dare put herself in the middle of the fire if she indeed had something to hide... But I know that doesn't necessarily apply to reality. Whatever you choose to do, it'll make you appear guilty in some fashion. The only way to avoid that seems to be dissuading Estulius from attending. You need to have a chat with that man."

"I do," Tevos agreed, and said nothing more. She certainly had many people to talk to, it seemed, but the most pressing matter was definitely Estulius. She knew the turian councilor was a bit reckless and bold at times, and he generally had good intentions, but this was outrageous. Did he really believe that his position in government granted him some sort of immunity? Did he believe that his service to the public allowed him to partake in ostentatious celebrations of excess without having to fear for his image? Or was he simply insane?

The situation was utterly disastrous. From all fronts—her family's deceptive ambition of 'welcoming home their beloved asari councilor', Estulius blindly walking into an impending calamity, the possibility of upsetting relations between the Council and the Batarian Hegemony, and even from Aria, whose current adversities meant peripheral trouble to be found by all of her allies, tentative or not.

They were all vital and urgent, but Tevos had no idea how she was going to address the onslaught without failing in at least one respect.


	6. Isolation

[ **Chapter 6: **Isolation ]

* * *

**THE TAYSERI GAZETTE — "Trouble in Sahrabarik"**

Over these last few weeks, gang wars on Omega have erupted in both larger numbers and in scale compared to its usual levels of inter-station strife. People intending to pay Omega a visit are being discouraged from spending time in the following districts, as violence has escalated to staggering amounts in these areas:

Zeta, Doru, and Tuhi

Journalists stationed on Omega have reported rampant skirmishes between the smaller gangs occupying those districts, and advise residents and visitors to relocate to areas with less hostility, such as the Gozu, Kima, and Kenzo Districts. Although these areas are not free from conflict, they are significantly removed from the battles waged in the previously listed sectors on Omega. One anonymous resident in the Gozu District has given us this statement regarding safety, "I'd say the safest place to be right now is definitely in the heart of Aria T'Loak's territory. She knows how to keep everything under control, and I wouldn't be surprised if she decided to go into those other warring districts and take them from the small gangs. They're easy pickings, you know? No one has firm ownership over them right now, so that'd be a great opportunity for her. Just speculating, is all."

One 'survival' strategy residential areas on the edges of Aria T'Loak's territories which border districts afflicted with strife have taken to is pooling their money together to purchase more guards and patrols to be stationed in their neighborhoods.

"You always get your money's worth with Aria," says Kenzo District resident Emas Astala. "Believe me, it's completely worth the extra cost. Just the other day the guards she commissioned to our area took out some rival gang members trying to occupy a nearby apartment complex. If they had managed to situate themselves in that makeshift fortress they could've easily gone on to raid our homes and business. Of course, Aria would've sent people out then, but it would've been too late for us."

* * *

:::

* * *

The turian councilor's attaché, being thoroughly aware of the dilemma his superiors were facing, immediately alerted Estulius of Councilor Tevos' intentions to visit his office and allowed her through.

His occupation had exposed him to the individual personalities of the councilors, mostly exhibited during petitions, and his conclusions about Tevos contained a faithful array of traits such as mild, reasonable, cautious, and articulate. But today, she brought something new, something he hadn't seen from her before—terrible, brooding contempt skulking beneath her outward poise, shoulders held just a tad too tightly, and steps quickened by an urgent purpose.

When Tevos entered Estulius' office—a structural clone of her own, albeit with nuances in décor tastes—she found him examining her from his desk, appearing as if he did not quite know how to address her, but swiftly shielded his unpreparedness with his usual amiable demeanor. He rose from his chair. "Ah, Councilor Tevos," he greeted her while folding his hands behind his back and stepping away from his desk. "I was actually meaning to contact you within the hour."

"Were you?" she inquired, mirroring his professional posture.

Estulius paused, detecting the iota of derision in her tone. "…I see news travels rather quickly, hm?" he remarked, now standing before her.

"It does," Tevos agreed, then leapt right into her primary concerns. "Why did you neglect to first speak with me before deciding that it would somehow be a wise decision to attend my family's reunion party?"

He audibly exhaled, looking at the floor for a moment in thought. Without meeting the other councilor's eyes again, he gestured to a chair before his desk, one much like the one in Tevos' office. "Would you like to have a seat?" He began to round his desk, intending to retake his chair.

She complied, patiently awaiting his answer as he lowered himself into his own seat. They reestablished eye contact.

"You see, Councilor," he began, folding his hands onto his desk, "by experience, I have found that being on friendly terms with powerful and influential groups is quite necessary for continued success. But how I go about that is… my own business, I'm afraid."

Tevos refrained from displaying her immense disdain, barely managing to keep it within the confines of her rapidly turning thoughts. "_Your _business?" she questioned him in near-disbelief. "Please do correct me if I'm wrong, but I was under the impression that _my_ family were the ones involved. Councilor, I'm fairly certain you are aware of the dangerous link between our families. Do you not see the implications of your attendance? Do you not realize what might become of our popularity if our supposed association was more or less 'confirmed' in this manner?"

"I have already considered the risks," he assured her. "But politics, as well as business and war, is all about taking chances; making sacrifices for rewards that equate and surpass them in value. I find myself in a similar situation. Here I am being presented with an opportunity to rekindle the mutually beneficial relationship between my clan and yours—something that was lost centuries ago. Yes, I might be risking a blemish on my name as a councilor, but in light of what I could gain from this, how could I afford to decline, Tevos?"

_The relationship was primarily lost as result of my actions_, Tevos thought. _Are you all merely spiting me for it, four, five hundred years later? Vengeance is quite a patient force indeed._

She had to remind herself not to jump to conclusions. She was a bit angry at the moment (with good reason), but she could not afford to let her reflexive emotions interfere with her handling of the delicate situation. Even still—against her best efforts, a few renegade atoms of her anger passed through the barrier of stoicism she had erected, unable to reconcile with Estulius' trespass of not only endangering his own reputation, but Tevos' as well and without her consent. She horribly failed to forgive that. "You're welcome to gamble your own career however you please," she said, "but not those of others. I take great offense, Estulius. Since you did not find it appropriate to seek my permission, or if you deemed me undeserving of possessing my own sets of opinions and decisions about the matter, at least allow me a truthful answer to this question: What could you possibly gain from attending that party?"

The turian councilor stared at her for a while, taken aback by the icy deliverance of her words. He forced himself to recover. "Yes, I did neglect to inform you before I made my decision, and for that I apologize. And in answer to your question, I have very much to gain. I've realized the importance of social connections. Let me put it this way: would I rather be friend or foe to them? The answer is quite obvious, I would think."

"That's rather dichotomous," Tevos, shaking her head in disapproval.

"Perhaps," he conceded that much to her. "But nevertheless I've devised a method of not only evading the possible repercussions of declining attendance to your family's grand party, but also a method of reducing the inevitable onslaught of public condemnation. However… this method requires your cooperation. Shall I explain this proposal?"

Tevos automatically began to lift a hand to her head, but halted the motion before she could bring attention to her developing headache. Instead, she acquiesced to the other councilor, deciding to give him a chance to reveal what sort of convoluted plan he had conjured to possibly rescue them both from the mess he created. "Very well, go ahead."

He rose from his chair, tapping his fingers onto the surface of his desk after suddenly finding himself in a lighter mood. "You see," he began, "I believe the trick to casting away the majority of ill speculation is _not_ actually blatant denial, but… _repurposing_ the harmful rumors."

"How do you mean?" Tevos inquired when he paused.

"First off, disavowing misconduct is never effective. It's quite easy for people to accuse you of simply lying. So instead of continuing with our current strategy—merely denying any sort of cabal or whatever it is they suspect—we should now take these speculations, work _with_ them, and rather than spending our time and energy _denying_ things, we should be _confirming _something." He turned away from her, pacing over to the window and peering out at the Presidium's pleasing vista. Tevos' silence encouraged him to elaborate. "I figured that if we attended your party, we would undoubtedly be confronted by the press in its aftermath, correct? They will demand to know the nature of Councilor Estulius' relationship with Councilor Tevos' family. They want to hear more denial of association so they can juxtapose those words with my attendance, thus generating their specially-manufactured portrayal of us both as liars. That's what they want. They want to rouse people and make money with their big headlines. So tell me, Tevos, what do you think about giving them something unexpected? What if we 'admitted' to them that all these rumors were actually drawing our families _back_ _together_ instead of exposing a previously established relationship?"

Tevos was perplexed by the idea. When Estulius faced her again, giving her an anticipatory expression, she canted her head slightly in deep thought and consideration before responding. "If I understand correctly, you're suggesting that we… essentially manipulate the speculation? Replacing one falsehood with another; one that serves us?"

He nodded in affirmation. "Precisely. If we use the party to our advantage, showing the galaxy that we were exalted to reconnect through an ironic twist of events—you know, once again becoming highly aware of each other as a result of the accusations—we can warp the situation. It will appear to the public that _their_ hunger for massive scandals brought this to life; planted the idea in our heads, forced us into contact and eventual alliance. There's a turian adage for something of this nature: _the more one dreads something, the likelier it is to manifest_. I'm sure it sounds more phonically pleasing to me—in most turian dialects it rhymes. Forgive me, I digress. But Tevos, just imagine the public reaction when they discover what has become of their greed for tabloid stories! Plus, if we remain transparent about the relationship between our families, it with appear as though we had been that way from the start, and over time people will find any maintained connection to be harmless."

The asari councilor warily eyed Estulius while she processed his words. As always, she was incredibly cautious and hesitant to reveal her true opinion of the strategy. In theory, it sounded… quite excellent, she admitted to herself, but what about in practice? Would reactions fall in line with what Estulius predicted, or would it only inflame their precarious position? Like everything else about the new turian councilor, his strategy was bold. But this time, unlike other moments spent beside him during petitions and otherwise, his plans seemed surprisingly well thought-out and comfortably within the realm of reason. And what other options did they have, aside from declining attendance all together? If they did just that—reverted to absence from the party—they would remain in the spotlight of conjecture unchanged.

But if they played to Estulius' bold plan, there was the possibility of emerging with their reputations mended after shedding the blame onto the media, who had instigated the fiasco in the first place.

"What do you think?" Estulius asked her, appearing confident. "If we do this, all parties can benefit. Your family has two councilors as esteemed guests at their party, granting them publicity and more potential high-profile friends. My family regains a valuable relationship with another influential bloodline. And we are exonerated from the incriminating rumors. Everyone wins, you see—everyone, I suppose, save for the media. But even they will get something out of this, perhaps. Not what they expected, but good stories nevertheless. What do you say, Tevos?" He returned to his seat, sitting down to meet her again at eye-level.

"I'm not yet certain, Estulius," she said, pensively folding her hands together. "I have personal objections against congregating with my family again. I would be willing to temporarily put them aside if it meant freedom from the speculation, but I fear there are other variables at work which could influence the outcome. It may not go as planned."

"Was anything worthwhile ever gained without taking a risk?" Estulius asked. "We can't always conduct our lives defensively. Good opportunities pass us by. I understand you may see it differently, however—longevity ultimately presents more opportunities, doesn't it?"

She afforded him a fleeting smile. "That may contribute to my worldview, yes. However I still remain extremely hesitant. What if this fails and the aspersion persists, or is even invigorated by our efforts?"

"Well… it'll fade," Estulius said, his prediction accompanied by a small shrug. "These things always fade eventually. People grow bored of stories when nothing of magnitude becomes of them, so there's nothing to sustain their interest. If this fails, we lose comparatively little, but if we succeed, we gain leaps and bounds. It's only a matter of being patient; waiting out the storm. At the heart of your hesitation, Councilor Tevos, what are your main fears? It is being viewed in a negative light? Losing additional favor in polls or facing defamation?"

"That is probably the root of my hesitance, yes," she grimly confessed.

"In complete honesty and with all due respect, I don't understand why you fear for your image. You've been in office for half a standard asari term. Fifty years for other species is a tremendous amount of time. You have seniority and opinion polls still generally sway in your favor, even over the last month. Do you truly underestimate your image as being that fragile as to shatter at the smallest mishap?"

"My time in office has given me ample understanding of the galaxy and public opinion," Tevos said. "I have tread carefully for years because the Council is a symbol of authority, and as history has proven time and time again, sapient races have a natural inclination to defy and denounce authority. Especially whenever they find enough of a reason to do so. We are never free from that long-standing phenomenon, Estulius. We must always be vigilant of our outward presentation and actions, lest our mistakes be horrifically preyed upon in spite of whatever buffering popularity we might possess at the time. That is why I still tread lightly."

Councilor Estulius reclined in his chair, his mandibles noticeably shifting in disagreement. "Treading lightly can equate 'do-nothingness' in practice, unfortunately."

"Treading lightly does not necessarily indicate a resistance to progress," she disputed. "It is more so _gradualism_, for progress is very much present—I am simply not forcible or rash in its implementation."

"Well to the non-asari races, your politics can appear quite _glacial_, if I may say so, even to the staunch and rigid turians," he said, half-meaning to keep the thought to himself, but when the remark reached Tevos and inspired her to send cold disapprobation in her gaze at him, he spoke again to change the subject. "But I suppose we all bring much-needed diversity. And pertaining to your fears… I still strive to reassure you that little harm would find you regardless of what actions we decide on. You've served the Council races well, and veraciously. I can't recall there being any records of any particularly nasty words against you from anyone of consequence."

She forced a small smile as she received his devised complement. It wasn't enough to improve her mood, but holding an affable conversation would allow them to accomplish more than whatever the exiguous yield of an argument would comprise.

But... _veracious_. That term echoed in her head. How true was that statement in reality? Tevos had an excellent reputation—for a politician—and Estulius was correct about the scarcity of harsh criticism directed toward her. That may have been the result of people targeting the Council in its entirety when expressing their disdain, thus diffusing the injury across three separate recipients, but letters from angry citizens reached them regularly, and Tevos seemed to be the one who received the least contempt. Was that only because of her _gradualism_, giving the public few opportunities to cry out against sudden changes, or because of her inveterate avoidance of getting herself into trouble, or situations wherein trouble was easily found? Or was it because of her talent in skillfully maneuvering herself, hiding things, and slipping away after doing something questionable without drawing any calumny? Was it discretion that had forged her likable pretense?

She had been entrusted with secrets which made her stomach violently twist about whenever she dwelt on them for too long. If her time as asari councilor had taught Tevos anything, it was that the asari were a race built upon shadowy foundations, and their most valuable commodity was information. And like a good leader, she retained her silence, pretending no such things existed when asked, and even sometimes wanting to resort to telling herself the same when reality became too overwhelming on some days. Not even the other councilors could know the secrets she kept, so there was no one with whom the burden could be shared—no one save for Asari High Command, and they weren't precisely the sort of entity that held conferences without a definite purpose. Chatting was a luxury reserved for the blissful ignorant. But there was some confidential information shared amongst the councilors, offering a reprieve from their utter isolation, and Tevos found it appropriate to bring a new topic into their discussion for the sake of convenience.

"I will seriously consider your plan, Councilor," said Tevos. "But aside from our 'plotting', I've brought a bit of good news. The Alunigen B2 drug trade is being monitored, and its roots seem to have been found. I'll forward you and Councilor Forlan the information and evidence shortly, but I suppose it would be proper to discuss my general findings now. Our gaze is shifting from Omega to a planet within batarian space called Camala."

"Well, excellent work," Estulius said. "I know you've been managing the bulk of that investigation, so the credit is primarily yours. And your Spectres', of course. Who made the discovery?"

She parted her lips as if to speak, but hesitated. Upon examination of the evidence she would send him, he would find that Aria had been their ally in the whole ordeal. She would not be able to conceal that from him, so she answered truthfully, "The evidence was passed onto me by Aria T'Loak of Omega."

He gave an amused scoff. "And you attempted to reprimand me for_ my_ selection of allies..."

"Omega is not precisely an ally," Tevos quickly clarified. "Legally, we have only signed a pact to cease hostilities."

"Yet Aria T'Loak has helped you? How is that not indicative of at least a rudimentary alliance?"

She was silent for a few seconds, searching for accurate words. "It was not help, per se, but more of a... business transaction."

"How did she benefit from it?" he inquired, not accusingly, but with genuine curiosity. "What could you possibly give her in exchange?"

"Nothing of much value to Citadel security, I assure you," she answered, taking care to implement a veneer of slight levity over her reply.

He nodded, reflecting the same trace of humor. "I know I've made a point of this before, but you asari are quite peculiar to turians. You treat your enemies like friends—at least, how we would treat our friends. You invite them to dinner to discuss your differences as if your mutual dislike itself holds some sort of intrinsic value... That's something my culture has immense difficulty comprehending. With turians, you're either a friend or a foe; there is no in-between. It's rather fascinating, don't you think?"

"Yes," she quietly agreed.

* * *

:::

* * *

A short cab ride brought Liselle to her destination: a warehouse erected in a quieter, peripheral section of the Kima District. As previously instructed in the brief note left by Aria, she exited the cab a few blocks away from the warehouse and continued the rest of her journey on foot. The streets comprising her path were conspicuously empty compared to other areas Liselle had visited before; there was no bustling foot traffic, no persistent beggars or seedy nomadic vendors to fend off. Every passerby was merely some brand of nondescript person hurrying past, occupied with their own agendas and not bothering to spare Liselle a glance. She vaguely wondered what sort of industries and residents the area generally contained, as the surrounding environment practically radiated arcane conduct, but for what reasons? There was no law enforcement to evade, and Aria rarely intervened in the business of others. She definitely spied on them, but she would never take them out unless they were causing harm to her own operations.

The inexplicably elevated secrecy of the region made it quite the suitable location for her mother's furtive assembly, the maiden thought. Because the area was evidently suspended in perpetual clandestine activity, a sudden influx of mercenary-like visitors would go relatively unnoticed, likely seen as nothing more than another unfolding operation of some local drug lord or feudal gang.

After a short trek through a tunnel-alley whose entrance was emblazoned with glowing hologram directions to nearby locations, Liselle emerged into a wider area; a foreboding, lonely, massive garage bordered by many separate warehouses, all identical in appearance with discrepancy solely occurring in the blocky red numbers stamped above their large metal doors. She recalled the number from her mother's note, _347_, and while searching for the matching warehouse, Liselle failed to notice the pair of hulking krogan standing around an entrance. Just when she identified it as her destination, one of the krogan barked out to her, "You gonna come in or are you just gonna gawk all day?"

Her gaze immediately dropped from its occupation with the red numbers above, now focusing on the pair of guards. They had obviously been appointed by Aria to prevent any undesirable company from attending the exclusive briefing.

"Don't call her over," reprimanded the other krogan, shaking his head at his partner. "How do we even know she's on the list? Look, she's startled and disoriented. Hardly even mercenary material. You idiot." He turned to look at Liselle. "Never mind him, kid. Just get outta here."

Liselle stood statuesque for a moment, gathering her wits again, and spoke while approaching the two. "Actually," she said, falling under their looming shadows and glowers, "I do intend to go in."

The two krogan exchanged equally bemused glances. The one on the left folded his arms while the other replied to Liselle, "Really? _You_ were invited here?"

She nodded.

He made an annoyed, grumbling sound from deep within his throat while leering at her with tremendous suspicion. "All right," he decided, bringing up his omni-tool, "hold still." As he waved the device in front of the girl for a quick scan and to check if her ID corresponded with those on the list his boss had given him, the other guard's folded arms disengaged to lay a cautious hand on the heavy shotgun strapped to his lower back. "…Looks like you're in," the krogan said as his omni-tool faded from sight.

His accomplice grew a deep frown as they stepped aside to grant Liselle access. He lightly smashed his fist against the lock to open the door, and as she passed through, she could hear him gruffly mutter to the other guard, "Aria's really scraping the bottom of the barrel these days, huh?"

An indignant crease formed in Liselle's brow as she made to turn around at the comment, but the door had shut behind her again before she could even consider issuing a bold rebuttal. Her attention was instead forced back to the warehouse's comfortably spacious interior. Off-white light emitted from their sources hanging high from the ceiling bathed the cold, industrial area like little suns, their rays catching flecks of dust and diffusing through wafting plumes and tendrils of cigarette smoke rising from the mercenaries idling around and sitting at portable tables in their complementing chairs. The population was an impressive menagerie of all sorts of people of various races and faculties, and Liselle estimated the total number currently occupying the warehouse to fall within the range of two to three dozen. All were clad in armor and gear while carrying their personal arsenals on their backs and sides.

As she tentatively lost herself within their sea, searching for a niche in which she could idle as well without drawing too much attention, she scanned their faces. Countenances were adorned with scars, diverse styles of war paint, tattoos, and she noted a few visors with sophisticated interfaces. Liselle had never been in the company of so many professional soldiers before. It instilled a sense of humble awe within her. Not only at their collective physical presence, but at being considered _among_ them rather than aside. Of course, she _did _continue to marvel at them over the next minute or so, thus creating conscious distance between herself and the assembly, but the period of acclimation was brief. She felt herself gaining further confidence and complacency with every passing second.

These people were Aria's elites—her hand-chosen flock of special agents, all talented, presumably loyal, and resourceful enough to be entrusted with gathering intelligence in the most treacherous and savage districts of Omega, all to aid their queen and her kingdom. Their shared mission was to be the ultimate test of their cunning and discretion; a trial to gauge their aptitudes and possibly win them piles of credits or a coveted position in Aria's administration by the end, if they were successful. They were all so very ambitious and brave for taking such risks.

Liselle felt a sudden tinge of pride when she analyzed her own purpose for volunteering. She neither pursued credits nor glory like most here probably did, and her own risks taken were of far larger magnitude due to her inexperience. At first she persuaded herself that her own undertaking was comparably noble, but she was sobered from pride when she considered what her mother would say about the situation. Undoubtedly something along the lines of: _Feeling pride in one's level of risk is a childish conceit._

Yes, it would be quite like her mother to say that. Aria had no time for romantic idealizations, and she was inclined to condemn bravery in its isolated state. Bravery had little function beside generating willingness to participate in daunting scenarios, but lack of ability would easily render said function utterly useless, thus becoming useless in Aria's eyes as well.

During her survey of the warehouse, she made unintentional contact with a batarian man whose arm rammed into her shoulder as she was navigating through the people with her gaze cast elsewhere for a careless instant.

"You lost?" he sneered at her while looking back at her from over his shoulder. Two slanted markings of red war paint beneath his lower pair of eyes twisted into his glare. When he turned away again, he shook his head in disapproval. He obviously didn't perceive the asari as worth the trouble. After all, what gains were to be made by antagonizing some dumbstruck, blatantly callow commando on what was likely her first job? Especially right before Aria's important briefing—the last thing he wanted to do was to give his boss a reason to kick him out. Or something potentially much worse, for that matter.

Liselle said nothing to him as he disappeared back into the small crowd, returning to the path she had designed for herself. Even this early on, it seemed, discouraging incidents at every turn threatened her resolve; as if Omega's entirety had obediently bowed to her mother's silent wishes, conspiring to throw enough adversity Liselle's way to convince the girl to turn back, abandon the briefing, and go home. No one thought she belonged here. And perhaps she didn't. But maybe, her gracious optimism spoke to her, there would soon come a time when she would no longer appear as such an outsider. After all, every single person in the warehouse must have experienced a similar moment to what she was trapped within now—a state of youth, first introductions, with nerves tainted with sheer uncertainty. They had persevered through that moment, however, else they would not be readily present for Aria's assembly as they were now, years later. So she stayed in line with their invisible footsteps, neither deterred nor intimidated nearly enough to desert her quest so early on.

_And what would Mother think of me then, if I did?_ She grimly asked herself while squeezing past a pair of drell impeding her course of passage, both standing tall and dire with unsettling, dark flitting eyes that were, to Liselle, reminiscent of an asari about to initiate a meld. _She would sentence me to confinement again. I'd be put back in the apartment as usual to continue the process of slowly going insane. I'll do anything if it keeps me from returning to that._

At last Liselle found a bare spot along one wall to linger in. She pressed her back to the metal and remained relatively still over the next indeterminate amount of time, contentedly entertaining herself with more people-watching.

Apparently, her designated teammates were among the observed numbers, lurking in anonymity and leaving Liselle to only speculate whom she would be working alongside. Would it be that green-plated krogan rudely shoving a batarian out of his way? She privately cringed in dismay at the thought. Or what about the salarian giving an abrupt laugh a few long paces away as he conversed with a small group of other mercenaries? He certainly came off as more amicable than the krogan, Liselle mused. She proceeded to envision herself collaborating with a variety of persons and combinations, determining how well they would likely fare, and even considering the probability of ending up partnered with—who her first impressions deemed as—favorable operatives. The odds were not comforting. Rather, they created a slowly-growing pit of dread within her stomach.

She was pulled from her thoughts as a sudden wave of silence washed over the room, originating at one corner and steadily sweeping across the many bodies. Mass attention was being redirected to a point off near an indomitable wall of huge metal containers stacked at the back of the warehouse, their contents unknown and their state immobile without the aid of heavy machinery or a few cooperating biotics. An upward gaze would bring to a spectator the sight of a familiar silhouette ascending to a perch atop a foremost container with a biotically-enhanced jump. Fingers grasped the edge of the container, followed by a smooth, effortless vault which brought the woman to her chosen stage.

Liselle peeled herself away from the wall, seeking a more central position. Her comparatively lean stature enabled her to traverse the small routes between operatives, and before long she reached a suitable position within the crowd.

From above where she paced atop the container, boots eliciting soft metallic taps with every step taken, Aria cast her frightening leer down at them all, analyzing and sizing up her miniature army with predatory diligence. Her outward presentation was flawless, stance brimming with every ounce of power she might have lost over the past few days, and the dark illness pooling in her sockets had completely evaporated like waning shadows at the dawn's approach. And like dawn itself, white was the unmistakable jacket once again adorning her shoulders—white like light, sunlight, although not manifesting in its usual incarnation associated with benevolence. This white was pure imposing dominion; harsh, commanding, and unrelenting like its wearer.

Without ceasing her leisurely pacing, Aria spoke. "As you all know," she said, projecting her voice so that it reached every corner of the building, "we have an…_ infestation_. Vermin in my territory, in _my _syndicate. Pathetic little creatures entertaining delusions of overthrowing my rule." She issued a trenchant scoff, but her wrath managed to leak through the sound. After a pensive, ominous lacuna, she resumed, "I haven't the time to deal with this pestilence. That's where you all come in."

She faced them all, steps coming to a halt. "Our enemy does not want to be found. They lurk in the lowest echelons of Omega, employing methods of assassination and infiltration rather than risking open war with us. I want these people found and eliminated."

The cruel arrival of Aria's words kept them all still and attentive.

"You are some of the best operatives currently employed to me," Aria bestowed them a rare compliment. "But that also means I will expect the highest quality results from you. Failure is not tolerable, because in this special case, failure equates massive damages to my organization. I will not have that."

As Liselle watched her mother along with many others surrounding her, she noticed something severely malevolent creeping into Aria's already fearsome gaze. It was unlike anything she could ever remember seeing in her face, not even when she was furious. It was positively foreboding, and sent subduing chills of fear and apprehension crawling along Liselle's skin, and by judging by the subtle trepidation rising on the features of the operatives around her, they were similarly afflicted.

"I will burn and purge many of these streets clean before I let them fall to our enemy," Aria resumed. "With this fact established, one would arrive at the conclusion that many lives are being placed in your hands. But you don't care about that." She smiled knowingly. "You care about your rewards, like most sensible people do. Rest assured; victory will secure you handsome compensation for your efforts, because as we know… when I win, everyone else wins. Therefore it's in your best interests to perform to the best of your abilities. Now let's get to the details. Squads have been organized prior to today, each containing three to four people, and each was contrived based on the dossiers of every individual. You will find yourself working with those we deemed most compatible with your skill sets and dispositions. Keep in mind that you'll possibly be working with this team for quite a while. And if you still find yourself unable to get along with your squad, you will upset me, and that is very unwise. Over the next few minutes you will all receive the names of your teammates, brief versions of each other's dossiers, and specific orders from me. Read my orders first. When you've done that, contact your teammates, set up a rendezvous point for you to meet, and get started."

Aria paused, observing the slight restless aspect developing in the assemblage. "I'm pleased to see your eagerness," she noted, "but I have a final statement to make. A warning."

Their uneasiness quelled, and undivided attention was instantly recaptured.

Aria was calm and collected as she closed her briefing with a threat, "A warning to all traitors or enemy spies that may be present here today: I will find you."

The finality, the absolute certainty in her own words sapped any and all levity from the atmosphere, replacing it with her otherworldly imminence; the sense of inevitability, of sealed fate that heightened one's awareness of their own mortality.

"I _will _find you, and I _will_ personally deal with you," she reassured them, deceptively gentle. She no longer required an assertive intonation. The devices to instill tremendous terror were already there, masterfully imbued in the simple words passing through her lips. "Now go."

Aria hopped down from her improvised stage and was immediately joined by a duo of well-armed guards who flanked her while she departed. Liselle watched her disappear as the crowd reanimated around her, moving, chattering, and awaiting the promised messages to arrive in their inboxes. She relocated to a quieter area.

Liselle had read and watched old recordings of public speeches Aria had given, and she had always been impressed with her mother's speaking talent and ability to captivate audiences. She promised them freedom, protection from enemy factions, and nothing more. She guarded their rapturous chaos, their right to determine and manage their lives however they saw fit; and as they did as they pleased, so long that it did not perturb Aria, she would sit back and watch the station rotate without attempting to tame it. She didn't need to tame it. Aria and Omega persisted in a beautifully symbiotic relationship wherein she preserved its lawless glory, and because she thrived in Omega's nature, it, almost resembling a semi-conscious entity at times, preserved her rule through… permission, Liselle decided, despite relegating to superstition to make sense of the phenomenon.

_No_, she revoked her last thought. _Not permission. That's the wrong word. Cooperation, more like._

But it was so peculiar, that although Aria always reinforced the concept of her absolute sovereignty over all who listened, openly denying them the equality granted to democracies, she still was able to keep their favor. Did the people of Omega not see Aria as a tyrant, based on her modes of administration? When Liselle began studying forms of government years previously, it initially baffled her. She strove to understood, for after reading about countless revolts throughout recorded galactic history, she feared her mother may eventually suffer the same fate.

Was that what was happening now? What was the motive of their enemy? Were they attacking Aria for ideological reasons, or were they merely another faction greedy for power? It must have been a blend of the two, Liselle thought. Their vehement disdain for Aria's syndicate could not have been borne from simple greed—no, it came from somewhere deeper. Somewhere emotional, political,_ ideological_. Otherwise they would not have bothered with assassinating her administration so… horrifically. They were making a statement. They were saying something to all of Omega, all who heard the whispers of _someone_ killing off powerful and prized officers in bizarre albeit fitting manners.

The more Liselle thought on the subject, the more she realized that their enemy's anonymity would soon give them power. To the population, the assassins were unattributed to any specific personage or group, and so they became abstract, intangible, like an idea, a disembodied voice, destined to mingle with the polyphony of Omega's countless others. But at that point, who exactly was speaking, people would wonder? Was it just a person, a group, or Omega in general? So symbolic were the previous deaths, so full of denouncement, that they seemed heavier in meaning than any normal demise brought on by the petty, avaricious feuding of rival factions.

It was all manifesting into a crusade, of sorts. Poisonous doctrine; the resonating notion of _Aria T'Loak must fall_, leading to station-wide conjecture and reevaluation of their current state and 'leadership'.

What verdict would Omega reach? Had it grown tired of her? Had Aria's time expired, ended, like all things eventually did?

It could not be so. Omega would surely preserve its de facto queen—she was more suited to hold power than anyone, anyone at all.

When Liselle checked her omni-tool, she realized she had received a message while she was pondering. Fortunately, it was only a few minutes old. Now against another wall and out of the way of traffic, she opened the message and began to read her orders.

.

TO: LISELLE KASANTIS  
FROM: ARIA T'LOAK  
SUBJECT: n/a  
ATTACHMENT: DOSS. M.L., DOSS. R.V., DOSS. L.K.

As you've probably discerned already, I want you using Iaera's surname around your teammates. Since this name is on official records, they'll have access to it. Any other alias will make your identity appear suspicious.

I'm sending you their dossiers and a copy of your own, which I'm sending to them. Make sure to read it as soon as you can, because this is who they'll think you are. Also, I'm giving you much more information about your team than what they're receiving about you. DO NOT let them know that you are aware of their backgrounds—only their basic profiles and skills are supposedly available to you.

They'll be contacting you soon to organize a rendezvous point. After you meet up, send confirmation my way, and you'll receive your first task. But before you leave the warehouse, speak to the requisitions officer standing near some crates along the southern wall. Give him your name; I've reserved something for you, in case you find yourself in any trouble. Delete this message after you've finished reading it and saved the dossiers to your omni-tool.

Good luck.

.

The maiden did as she was told; first saving the files containing the dossiers, then glancing around the warehouse to locate the requisitions officer. He was a turian, surrounded by a few guards, and a short line of operatives had formed leading up to his position. Apparently, Aria had a few things for other people as well. After deleting the message, Liselle began making her way over to him, her mother's final words lingering in her head: _Good luck._

It was simple and concise, but it meant an incredible amount. Knowing Aria, it was the equivalent of a tentative _I love you_, only masked by her usual cold distance and her reluctance to have permitted Liselle's participation. But it was enough.

Liselle filed onto the back of the line, standing behind another asari. While she waited, she browsed her own dossier, taking into account that her age was being stated as one-hundred twelve rather than a truthful fifty-three. That misinformation had likely been installed to deal with her teammates, who would inevitably react poorly to working with someone so painfully young. Her skills were also slightly exaggerated. _Capable biotic_ was hardly how she perceived herself, especially when held in comparison to Aria's best operatives. A dose of worry flooded her veins. If her teammates were to fall under the impression that she was as skilled as her dossier claimed, she would have to perform to meet those expectations or risk being put under suspicion.

When she finished absorbing and memorizing the false data Aria had added to her façade, she moved on to the first dossier of her team. She held her fingertip to the file labeled 'DOSS. M.L.' and prompted the information to display.

.

NAME: MALAK LEKAHN  
SEX: MALE  
RACE: BATARIAN  
AGE: 32

BACKGROUND [CONFIDENTIAL]: Born on Erszbat, grew up on farmlands before joining the Dar'nerah pirate fleet at age 17. Assigned to the liaison-auxiliary sector; fought in the interests of both the fleet and Aria T'Loak's syndicate. Cousin of the deceased Olat Dar'nerah. Father was Gotol Lekahn and mother was Anhera [Dar'nerah] Lekahn, younger sibling of Ralot Dar'nerah. Upon Olat Dar'nerah's death, lost his cousin's favoritism, protection, and monetary benefits. Now exclusively works for Aria T'Loak.

APTITUDES: Knowledgeable of firearms and explosives, excels in direct assaults. War strategist.

.

Liselle's initial reaction to the brief dossier was one of confusion. Why assign a warfaring soldier to a reconnaissance operation? Was someone of his ilk even well-practiced enough in stealth to participate? She tried not to preemptively condemn the man; after all, Aria had selected him for the missions. But for what purpose? One possible explanation made Liselle anxious: did Aria expect them to encounter violence? She didn't like that particular speculation. For one point, it meant that her mother might have been weighing down their team in an effort to protect Liselle, and for another… the expectation of violence was unsettling by itself.

Before she could access the last dossier to find out who was counterbalancing their ally's skill set, Liselle discovered that it was her turn to speak to the requisitions officer. She lowered her omni-tool and met the turian's eyes.

"Name?" he asked her, arms folded and appearing rather exasperated with his job.

"Liselle Kasantis," she said, gaze flitting from him to the two guards standing around the crates.

The turian held up a datapad to check his list, scrolling down to find the given name and what item was attributed to it. When he found it, his bored expression transmuted into mild amusement. "Well aren't you lucky?" he remarked, turning around to sift through a crate containing well-organized rows of firearms. While he searched, Liselle heard him comment again, "What I wouldn't give for one of these things…"

At last he presented a weapon to her, holding it out for her to receive. Liselle spent a moment staring at it as if it were a live grenade. The firearm was a new, sleek submachine gun, and when she took it in hand and lifted it away from the requisitions officer, she examined the light yet strong metals composing its impressively compact body and marveled at the elegant design.

"Latest model," said the requisitions officer. "One of those new guns that don't require reloading—just make sure to stagger sprays of fire so it doesn't overheat, and you're good to go. You can shoot for several days straight without having to replace the ammunition block. Keep that beauty safe, my friend." He shook his head, wondering why fate had handed some wide-eyed asari such a quality weapon while he was stuck using fossils. When the girl departed, still dazzled by the firearm in her hands, he motioned for the next person in line to approach.

Liselle fitted the gun into the holster it came with, reached back, and securely fastened it near her pistol. It was a welcomed gift, but she prayed that she would never enter a circumstance where its utilization would be required. When she finished making a small adjustment to the holster, giving it a final tug to assess its reliability, a chirp from her omni-tool alerted her of another incoming message.

The identification of the sender was none other than the batarian man she had just read about. She opened his message, reading what he had sent:_ East Gozu District, Perzan's [shoddy little street restaurant]. Confirm if it's an acceptable location. If not, give your reason and suggest somewhere else._

A quick extranet search for the name yielded the exact location. She had no qualms about the chosen spot, so she replied to Malak's message with a brief affirmative, _Sounds good, I'll be there._

* * *

:::

* * *

Liselle found herself within the dark interior of another cab before long, peering out the window at the flashes of burning light and shadow as the vehicle soared between spires, heading for the Gozu District. She relaxed in her seat, taking measures to become comfortable for the remainder of the trip so her apprehension would not consume her. She had no idea how her squad would receive her. Would they be easy to work with, or would they immediately give her trouble when they detected her greenness? Surely Aria would not have paired her up with brutes.

She reprimanded herself for that thought._ I'm not supposed to be depending on her to keep me safe anymore,_ she thought. _I only become upset when she tries to shield me when I don't need or want it. I can't just change my mind whenever I feel scared. Either I want her help or I don't, and I've already let her know that I don't. It's too late to go back on my word._

Liselle abruptly remembered that she had yet to read the other dossier of her remaining teammate. Seeing is as an opportunity to soothe her jumpy nerves, she preoccupied herself with accessing it from her omni-tool and scanning over the meager lines of text.

.

NAME: RASMA VISIOM  
SEX: FEMALE  
RACE: TURIAN  
AGE: 34

BACKGROUND [CONFIDENTIAL]: Widow of Aetius Visiom, to whom she was married for nearly a decade. Has worked in intelligence for fifteen years. Parentage and place of birth undisclosed. No children.

APTITUDES: Excels at infiltration in all areas; technological as well as stealth operations. Formidable in combat.

.

There was even less information about this person as there had been about Malak, Liselle mused, but the supplementary notes on Rasma Visiom's background must have been incredibly relevant if Aria had passed them onto her.

_Visiom_. She recognized that name. It belonged to Aria's former right-hand lieutenant, who was among those assassinated. Liselle then remembered Malak's blood connection to Olat Dar'nerah—another murdered officer of Aria's. Therefore, both of her assigned teammates held something in common: a slaughtered family member, and Liselle discovered that when she inserted herself in the equation, she also shared some degree of pain found in nearly losing her mother. The trio, though remarkably disparate from what she gathered from their dossiers, intersected at that single point, undoubtedly arranged by Aria's volition. But for what purpose, and why let Liselle know about it? That was the prevailing question.

She pondered for a while. Had Aria intentionally recruited them solely based on their commonality, to somehow use their shared personal grudges against the enemy to her advantage? The despair felt from losing someone dear didn't guarantee incorruptible loyalty to Aria, but it certainly helped the odds. But how did Aria expect Liselle to use this information? To reassure her that her teammates were trustworthy? If that was the case, it wasn't a very wise move. Allowing Liselle any complacency meant her wariness would recede, and if any of them did decide to turn traitor, she may not detect their change of heart until it was too late.

Liselle profoundly wished that Aria wasn't so blatantly manipulative sometimes. Aria controlled people by giving out just enough information to enable them to perform their duties, but not enough for them to realize the existence of other options. No, she wanted everyone acting according to her own confidential plans like a multitude of witless cogs turning without question, and now that Liselle had volunteered to join her mother's ranks, she was expected to participate in that fantastic machine, working in the dark, only knowing a few dappled pinholes of light—knowledge of Aria's grand schemes—and following that allowance as if it were the only knowledge in the universe. Or at least, the only knowledge that mattered.

She wasn't fond of that. But what else could be done?

When the cab neatly descended into a designated landing area, Liselle paid and exited the vehicle. She emerged in the Gozu District, feet touching down on a somewhat familiar street crowded by the comings and goings of innumerable denizens. She had been in this area before, albeit months (or was it years?) ago and while under the protection of Aria's commandos. While most of the Gozu District was residential, the peripheral, twisting streets connecting it to other districts were lined with small shops. And, evidently, the rendezvous point Malak Lekahn had selected for them.

After following the directions she had memorized when looking up her destination, Liselle found herself on a long, narrow street bordered by mediocre stands and kiosks amid what she perceived to be miniature alleys of debris, perhaps from abandoned or pending structural expansion projects; rope, netting, upright stacks of metal beams propped against walls. Indistinct junk, as far as Liselle could see. She lifted her stare to the buzzing, glowing signs installed above each individual outlet or food stall. The alien letters, subtitled by smaller translations in various languages, blazed in industrial yellows against the rust-colored, low-hanging roofs upon which they were mounted. The foot traffic remained in significant amounts even within the cramped passage. She took care to avoid collisions while searching the signs by regularly returning her eyes to her path, only glancing downward once when her steps found a metal grating over the street, eliciting a sudden jarring, metallic clank as its loose frame pressed onto the ledges beneath holding it in place.

The pace of this world was swift. Store owners called out to passers-by, seeking their custom, and within the avenue of flowing potential customers itself, a sense of complete anonymity settled over their bodies. No one knew where anyone else was going, nor did anyone seem to care. It was a strange social dynamic to Liselle, who was used to company whose agendas were generally open and accessible, save for Aria's, of course. Here, one could so easily disappear, in great contrast to the constant monitoring Liselle had been subjected to her entire life. She was gone. She was no one until she decided to make herself known—and that was liberating.

At last she located the correct stall, _Perzan's;_ a small, compact restaurant situated in a branched-off cul-de-sac at the end of the long street. Stationary seats wrapped around the counter at which food was served and eaten, and at the time of Liselle's arrival, approximately half were occupied by customers. She took a seat to remove herself from the river of people, examining her surroundings and watching clouds of steam rising from the kitchen and dissipating into the air around her. As she did, a sudden commotion originating from an alley dividing the restaurant and its neighboring kiosk reached her in a series of shouts and a crash. Few others seated at the counter bothered giving it any attention, which Liselle found quite peculiar, especially as the ireful words gradually became more distinct.

"Get the _hell_ out of here!"

A small band of vorcha escaped the alley in a hurry, fleeing their batarian attacker, who had drawn a gun on them. The vorcha hissed racial slurs and profanities over their shoulders before trudging off into the shifting mass of traveling bodies.

"I've had enough of them," the man said bitterly to one of the cooks leaning over the edge of the counter to watch the vorcha leave while hearing what his coworker had to report. "When I said_ no handouts_ I didn't think that translated into an invitation to come in and steal our stocks instead."

The other employee gave a wry, ephemeral smile. "You should shoot them next time," he impartially suggested, pushing away from the counter and returning back to work.

The remaining man fumed for a moment, glaring hatefully at the crowds before turning around and heading back in direction from where he had previously emerged.

Liselle had become entranced with the whole scene, paradoxically wondering why no one seemed to care in slightest about the incident, but also understanding that general apathy toward other people was deeply embedded in Omega's culture. It brought her back to the bizarre sense of anonymity washing over her as she faded into the crowds. Truly, that seemed to be the quintessence of Omega; apathy for all things irrelevant to oneself and their immediate interests. It was only odd to observe first-hand because although Liselle had lived on Omega during all the years of her life, she had existed in a separate micro-community usually only containing her mother, Iaera, Zuria, and a handful of commandos who were present solely on days which Aria decided. Within that 'family', everyone was always involved in her business. They were always concerned with her state of being—the progress she was making in her privatized education or biotic lessons, her emotional, physical, and psychological health, where she was, what she was doing... She had become so accustomed to submitting reports about her present existence that it was immensely outlandish to witness a distinct lack of concern radiating from nearly everyone she passed. No commandos were hovering over her shoulder or cautiously watching the surrounding people for any signs of trouble. No one was doing that to anyone else, either. Everyone was completely removed from each other's lives.

She found herself quite conflicted. It was a bit sad, seeing the endless sea of Omegans willingly confined to their own spheres of reality, utterly disinterested in all which did not concern them, and only reacting when some event penetrated their sphere. But it was also... soothing, almost. _Liberating_; she retrieved the word she had chosen just a few minutes previously. To be free from constant scrutiny, to no longer be held under the harsh beacon-lights cast by the gazes of her guardians. Was Omega's approach to life a good one, Liselle wondered? Was it so bad to live one's life for oneself, and solely for oneself, or was there still a fundamental expectation or necessity as an individual benefiting and thriving within the organism of any society to serve a larger common good, like paying one's fare to exist alongside others, on the foundations of progenitors? Was that simply not Omega's way? It certainly wasn't Aria's way; with her, every person was responsible for his or herself and 'duty' was merely an illusion perpetuated to encourage the repayment of debt.

After giving her situation some serious thought, Liselle realized that she would not have to choose between the conflicting ideals. She was autonomous now, a sacred individual with her own blooming ambitions, but she was also serving a larger purpose by joining the struggle for her home, regardless of how minor or brief the conflict would be remembered as. She had secured a coveted piece of both worlds.

Her musings came to an end when she noticed the large grey outline of an elcor approaching her from the opposite side of the counter. When he spoke, his voice came monotonously, completely devoid of any intonation:

"Mildly contrite: I apologize for the wait. A minor incident demanded my attention. Would you like to order something to eat?"

Liselle stared at him with wide blue eyes, only issuing her tardy reply after a long span of silence which lasted beyond what was generally considered socially adept. "Oh, no thank you. Maybe in a bit, though."

He blinked his dark eyes at her, but there were no facial cues to give the action any context. "With standard courtesy: You are welcome to loiter here as long as other seats remain open for new customers. If you decide to place an order, just let me know."

She thanked him before he diverted his attention to other customers. While he busied himself with taking their orders, Liselle cast her gaze along the seats, craning her neck to scan each of their faces tinted by the warm yellow glow of the restaurant's sign hanging just overhead. At the very end of the row, she noticed a batarian sitting far away from everyone else, tending to a bowl of what Liselle suspected to be thick stew. He was suited up in light mercenary armor, decorated by bold, symmetrical sections of black, brown, and red paint, varying across the chest, arms, and sides—a style currently popular among batarians, she recalled. He, like so many others, had shut himself off from everything outside his personal orb, and was content to devour his meal without any further interactions with the environment or anyone within it. Liselle rose from her seat and began to travel toward him on a hunch, consequentially aiming to break through the exterior of his interpersonal fortress with the halberd of speech.

When she tentatively sat down beside him, the man neglected to pay her any heed at all. She peered over at him, wondering if he could be her teammate Malak—he was certainly dressed for the job, and his stature was appropriately athletic. There was a significant chance that he was indeed Malak, and so Liselle decided to test that chance by audibly clearing her throat, meaning to send him a query.

He lifted his four eyes from his bowl, appearing annoyed, and turned to face her. However, the first thing she noticed about him was not his irritation, but the angry, slanted red lines of war paint—or were they tattoos?—drawn across his cheekbones. It was the same batarian from the warehouse; the one she had accidentally bumped into. Her eyes widened with realization, as did his as the two mutually recognized one another.

"Oh, _great_," he muttered, shaking his head while turning away. "It's _you_."

Liselle would have normally taken offense, but she was currently too stunned to process the intended insult. "You're Malak?"

He gave a reluctant nod, succeeded by a trenchant, distant question in response, "And you're Liselle, huh?" After lifting a spoonful of the diced meat in the stew to his mouth, he spent a moment chewing to issue another string of words without impeding his speech. "Just the turian left, then."

The maiden remained stationary, watching him consume a few more bites before speaking again. "Why did you choose this location?" she asked out of pure curiosity.

He shrugged, and without looking at her, replied, "Wanted to grab a quick lunch."

Liselle nodded, solemnly accepting the high unlikelihood of getting anything more out of the man. What an unfortunate turn of events, she thought. It hadn't been a single hour yet and they had already managed to start off on the wrong foot. Or maybe this _Malak_ guy always carried around that disposition. Hopefully the importance of their mission, Aria's promises of something decidedly _bad_ happening if they refused to collaborate, and the large monetary rewards waiting for them to claim would serve as enough motivation to inspire camaraderie. In an afterthought, she added, _Eventually_.

Rather than wasting her time trying to elicit any further conversation from her standoffish ally, Liselle turned around, sitting backward on her seat, and searched the protean flow of people for female turians, and of those she detected, one who resembled the impression she got from reading Rasma Visiom's dossier. Minutes passed before Liselle caught sight of a silhouette making her way over to them; tall and lean, clad in light armor bearing dark, ominous hues. As she neared, a naturally dire structure of plating which composed her face's carapace came into view as well as streaks of sharp green designs proudly displaying her colony of origin.

The asari rose from her seat, intending to expedite their meeting by ascertaining whether the woman was their final teammate, and if she was, bringing her into their forming trio. Before she could accost her, however, the turian woman's eyes were suddenly overcome by a cryptic, nearly hostile expression, but she did not prevent Liselle from speaking.

"Are you Rasma?" Liselle asked when she was within range. She extended her hand. "I'm Liselle."

The turian came to a halt, saying nothing at first and rejecting her gesture. While maintaining the same subtle irritability in her countenance, she motioned to Liselle, directing her to join her in a quiet corner of the alley where traffic did not touch. She glanced back at Malak, who was now watching with utmost caution from over his shoulder. Liselle withdrew her hand and followed her a few paces in the indicated direction.

As soon as the turian reached the spot she was focusing on, she turned, lowered her voice to a dangerous volume, and said to Liselle, "Do _not_ approach me so brazenly."

Liselle eyed her with confusion and surprise. "What? Why not? No one's listening; no one's even _watching_. They'd notice us talking over here before they'd spare us a glance anywhere else."

Rasma shook her head contemptuously. "You don't seem to understand. Omega has eyes _everywhere_. That's why we're in this entire mess in the first place—because no one thought they were being watched, listened to... No, this is a bad spot to talk. Too stationary. We need to get moving. Right now. Is that Malak Lekahn?" She discreetly gestured toward Malak, who was still peering at them suspiciously from his seat.

"Yes," Liselle confirmed.

The turian made a beckoning motion at him. Malak glared but acquiesced after scarfing down a few more bites and paying for his meal. The very moment he joined them, Rasma began walking off back into the bustling streets, wasting no time on introductions and instead focusing on sending something through her omni-tool. Liselle assumed it was the message to Aria notifying her of an assembled team ready for further orders. Matching Rasma's steps required a brisk pace and enough agility to weave through the ever-shifting crevices between people obscuring their path. Before long, Malak was speaking up.

"So what are we expected to do first? The boss doesn't exactly appropriate information liberally, but this is strange even for her. Does she expect us to just wander aimlessly around until she decides what to do with us or something?"

"For now, yes," Rasma blandly replied while glancing back at him. "Unless she sent you any orders that said otherwise."

"All right, fine. I've just been getting strange vibes about this mission—the way it's been set up. Hardly any details, splicing weird squads together..."

"So ours is weird in comparison to others? You know about others?"

"Eh—no," he said. "I just find it odd that she thinks bringing people like us together is going to get her results. I mean really; I didn't exactly volunteer for this shit. I was more or less recruited since my job's gone fucking bad—" He suddenly stopped on that note, rerouting his sentence. "But anyway, I'm a merc. Not a private investigator. I don't do that crap and I don't know much about it. Now you ask me to destroy something or kill someone, that I can do without a hitch. And you... Visiom, right? You're the sort who she should've sent on this. Not people like me. And look." He shamelessly jabbed a thumb in Liselle's direction. "This girl obviously doesn't know what she's doing."

"Excuse me?" Liselle bristled.

"You heard me," said Malak. "I bet you've never done a day of mercenary work in your life, judging by the way you walk around like you've never seen these streets before, like you're totally lost, not having the slightest clue about what you're doing..."

"I've had _decades_ of commando training," Liselle boldly retorted while dodging around a few people in her way. "I've been developing my skills longer than you've been _alive_. So I don't think you should speak to me like that."

"And over those decades, just how many people have you killed?"

Liselle's confidence drained from her heart all at once, but she forced an empowered lie from her lips, "Three."

Malak shook his head at her. "No you haven't."

"Oh yeah? How can you tell?"

"You don't _get it_," Malak said, the severity of his voice swiftly increasing. "You just don't get any of this. It's something only another mercenary can tell, someone who's seen all the things you're_ pretending_ to have experienced. I can tell, just by watching the way you act, and it's actually insulting to hear you trying to equate yourself with people like us, people who have actually_ lived_ through shit you can't even imagine. How are you even here? What the hell sort of game is Aria playing?"

Rasma stepped into the developing fight, but whether it was done in Liselle's defense, to stop their annoying bickering, or to side with her boss was unknown. "If Aria sent her on this mission, it was with good reason. Aria _never_ does anything without good reason. Even if we can't comprehend her decision, we have to accept it. What if Liselle's a biotic prodigy, Lekahn? She might lack in experience, but for all we know she could be just as valuable an asset as either of us, and _neither_ of us are biotics." After pausing, she added in a mutter, "And you're a damned idiot if you think your judgement is better than Aria's."

"Hey, I respect Aria just as much as you do," he said as they passed by a few Blood Pack mercenaries trying to sell a group of snarling varren restrained by heavy chains. The beasts struggled and wildly snapped at them to no avail, either receiving kicks in the ribs or harsh tugs on their leashes from their masters whenever their behavior grew too frenzied for their convenience. After Malak dismissively waved an arm at them to communicate their disinterest, he continued, "But you can't expect me to just blindly walk into this blatantly peculiar situation she's set up for us without asking a few questions."

"Well if you have questions, I'm sure she'd love to hear them," Rasma coldly said. "Just send a message her way. Aria just _adores_ it when her employees ask her about the sensitive plans she's carefully conceived. Even better—maybe you should explicitly convey your disapproval."

Malak was rendered indignantly silent as their conversation died, and Liselle was left to the dissonance of her thoughts while they continued to trail behind Rasma. She didn't know what to think about her new allies; no one seemed to particularly like each other, and both Rasma and Malak came off as inherently bitter. Or bitter with good reason, Liselle reconsidered. After all, Rasma Visiom had lost her husband to the assassins, and while Malak may not have viewed his cousin Olat Dar'nerah equally as dearly, he had let slip that his career was in shambles, or a pathetic ghost of its former, prosperous state. So _of course_ Malak had expressed his disdain with Liselle. She was just a reminder of what sort of jobs and with what company he'd been relegated to. And for Rasma, who immediately and vehemently defended Aria's decrees, was likely clutching onto notions of revenge and eagerly taking every opportunity her boss granted her to further that cause. Even under these circumstances, Liselle realized, her teammates, like the rest of Omega, were entranced with their own investments and goals. That could certainly cause them trouble down the line, she grimly thought.

"Hold on," said Rasma, herding them out of the foot traffic and into an unoccupied spot along the wall of the tunnel-street. She was accessing her omni-tool's interface. "We've got our orders... Apparently, our first assignment is being delayed."

"Delayed?" Malak repeated. "What the fuck does that mean? We're not starting today?"

"Sounds like it," she said, sounding a tad exasperated as well. "But she's given us a few other details, at least. How she wants our unit to function. From now on... Liselle receives the orders, then relays them to us. As for me, I _send in_ daily reports. Creates a balance of power, I'd assume. You two are also expected to follow my orders when appropriate." She turned the hologram of text to face them, showing proof of her words.

"And what the hell am I supposed to do?" Malak demanded.

"You're supposed to _shut up_ and do as Aria says."

"Wait a moment," Liselle spoke up, impeding their conflict. "Is there any specific reason why our mission is being delayed? Did Aria say anything about that?"

Rasma disengaged from her aggressive exchange with Malak to answer her question, which was of much more importance than bickering. "She didn't give any reasons, but I'd suspect it's because she doesn't want to release us all at once. Might be a little too conspicuous, having all the squads suddenly poking around. She probably wants to deploy us gradually; give everyone a chance to disperse."

_Or prevent me from doing anything yet,_ Liselle considered in frustration.

"For now..." Rasma continued, "I'd suggest we all go home and meet up again when Aria has something for us."

Malak muttered a few profanities in reaction to their anticlimactic rendezvous being a 'waste of time', angrily placed his hands on his hips, turned away, and seethed. Meanwhile, Liselle's gaze had wandered off toward the busy streets, watching the diverse array of people ceaselessly traveling around like an agitated, fiery sea. As usual, she had no idea about what her mother was thinking or what she intended for them. They were little ignorant pieces—just little mindless pawns—at Aria's mercy, patiently awaiting for her to put them into play, and to be helplessly arranged however she saw fit. Was this all there was on Omega? Living in tiny niches, just fractions of reality, never knowing the grander scheme of things, and eventually accepting the dreary fate of never knowing what Aria knew; never gaining access to the vast consciousness of Omega itself? The awareness of its people, its business, its secrets...? How did that suffice for these people? Did they not desire more? Did they not wish to escape their shackles of subservience within the glorious empire and share in the spoils? Liselle couldn't fathom being satisfied with that life.

It abruptly occurred to her that there _were_ other people who shared her dissatisfaction, and when she realized who they were, Liselle felt a surge of chills permeating throughout her entire body.

Their enemy—the assassins—also fought against the agonizing isolation of not knowing Omega as Aria did. They were restless, tired of decaying within insignificance, growing weary of a narrow existence; crying out and silencing those people who supported and symbolized Aria's elite, privileged control of intelligence and material luxuries.

She felt ill, positively_ ill, _and suddenly, Zuria's past words found her conscience:

_"You might come to resent her for some of the things she's done. If that happens, Aria faces a major problem. It will not be her love that has disappeared, but _yours_. That can spell destruction if your relationship ever becomes feudal. Because, as we both know…the heiress usurps the queen."_


	7. Cognitive Dissonance

[ **Chapter 7:** Cognitive Dissonance ]

* * *

**PERSONS — "A Celebration of Blood"**

With the N'Yiria-N'Vani family's public unveil of another rare reunion only occurring every centennial—traditionally followed by a charity ball held the next week for the society-serving organization of the family's choice—speculation revolving about the possible attendance of a few certain high-profile people has already been creeping into household and workplace conversation. Today, Farala N'Yiria has been so generous as to follow the unveiling with a brief interview regarding the unique expectations for this century's gathering in exchange for our endorsement and publication of the charity ball, which all of us encourage readers to attend to help out the galactic community while enjoying a fabulous party.

In this interview given by our own Enira Lesara to Farala N'Yiria over a vid comm conversation, we address some of the prominent issues on everyone's minds:

EL: I can't thank you enough for your time, Farala.

FN: Oh, it's no problem at all, really. I'm quite elated to answer a few questions; this is, after all, an incredible occasion for my family. It's personal importance to me is only overshadowed by my desire to attract guests for the charity ball [laughs]. You must come to that! We shall meet in person then.

EL: That certainly sounds lovely! I'll definitely check my calendar and try to clear my schedule for that day. Not to mention hunting for a new dress. Now—to my first question. There have been some rumors about Councilor Tevos attending your reunion; the first time your family would have the company of a councilor at this event. Do these rumors hold any water...?

FN: They do, in fact. Dear Tevos is indeed invited. She is family, after all, so it wouldn't be proper to exclude her. Whether she can attend or not however is a different matter altogether, as I understand being the asari councilor doesn't leave much time for parties.

EL: Yes, one can only imagine! Do tell, what does it mean for you and your family, having your... cousin, was it? As the asari councilor?

FN: Tevos is a bit further than a cousin to me. My mother Galieta was a cousin of Theralia, Tevos' mother. The whole relation is complicated. I'm sure you don't want me to go into all that. But in answer to your question: it means quite a lot _to_ us, but I'm not sure about_ for_ us. Tevos is an inter-species official while we generally stay on Thessia. I suppose in summary we are immensely proud of her and wish her well, but that is the extent.

EL: How would you describe Councilor Tevos' relationship with the rest of her family?

FN: Hmm, you'd be better off asking her that question. From my perspective, she's always put distance between us. She's a very independent person, one could say. Goodness, it's actually been quite a while since I last saw her.

EL: Since the last reunion a century ago, right?

FN: No, in fact! Longer than that. We were just maidens, if I recall correctly. Since then, Tevos hasn't made an appearance in any of the reunions. Probably enthralled and preoccupied with her blossoming career, no doubt [laughs]. I used to fear that she discarded our invitations out of some sort of unrequited enmity. I still hope that explanation is untrue, and I profoundly hope to see her again in a few weeks, if just for an afternoon.

EL: What other esteemed family and friends are you expecting?

FN: Many. I could not list them all, I assure you. But yes, we are a very old family, as one could tell from simply reading our name. Over millennia we have accrued many friends and family members, as mathematically expected. I'm actually a bit surprised that you haven't inquired about Councilor Estulius.

EL: Oh, I didn't plan to. I understand it's been a... touchy subject lately?

FN: I suppose, yes, perhaps. I understand where all the conjecture comes from, and I don't really blame those who remain wary of the association. I usually advise people to look at it this way: a one in a billion chance is still predicted to occur one out of a billion times. Meaning, through all the confusion and chaos of lineage and circumstance, Tevos and the distant descendant of Iona Maevian both found a spot on the Council independently of each other's influence. No, not quite. I amend that fallacy; they _were_ dependent on each other in terms of origin. If they could not be traced to common roots, a 'suspicious' correlation could never have manifested in the first place. I've always marveled at the way we perceive the universe. Trillions of coincidences happen every single day, and yet we only pay attention to the ones that affect our interests. But yes, to your readers. Councilor Estulius has been invited and may attend if he wishes. I'd also like to thank everyone's keen senses for detecting his association to Tevos, else we may not have had the chance to meet the good man.

EL: Well, that leaves me without any more questions [laughs]. Again, thank you endlessly for your time.

FN: It was my pleasure.

* * *

:::

* * *

After the discussion between the asari and turian councilors came to a close, Tevos excused herself from Estulius' office, made a trip to the batarian embassy, stole the ambassador away from his current preoccupations, and placed him into a conversation regarding the unfortunate news the councilor had received from Aria T'Loak earlier that day. The man was pleasant, patient, and attentive despite being notified that his homeworld's government would possibly be arraigned if any type of pact between the Hegemony and the drug smugglers was discovered. Instead of becoming defensive or resorting to denial, he took the asari councilor very seriously; listening to every word she issued him while jotting down notes, asking the occasional stray question, and by their conversation's end, the two politicians had arranged for the batarian ambassador to return to his native Khar'shan where he would serve as a medium for the Council, seeking formal audience before that planet's leaders and presenting to them information and subsequent inquiries. This event would promptly take place within the next week, Tevos was pleased to hear.

Following the conceived arrangement, the asari councilor's stress receded to manageable amounts, but there still remained anxiety felt at the notion of possibly finding the Council at odds with the Batarian Hegemony if their response was ill. The notion's malevolent shadow followed her for the rest of the work day, even distracting her from remembering to update Aria on the situation until just an hour before she left for home. Of course, Tevos was still a little bitter at Aria for addressing her as if she were another one of her thugs. Tevos actually considered the idea of leaving out details or construing facts in a way that would make them nebulous just to spite Aria—but she decided that spite was a child's game, and turning to juvenile means would only indicate a pathetic inability to properly handle the difficult and severely aloof Aria T'Loak. So she sent an unabridged report to her and awaited a reply, but one didn't arrive until the waning final minutes of the twenty-hour day when Tevos was comfortably in her apartment, relaxing in bed with an e-book and few glasses of wine in hopes to remove the corrosive effects of stress still lingering in her body.

She was reading an old asari-authored book first published millennia ago—Tevos only regretfully admitted her strong gravitation toward older Thessian works when reading for pleasure to close friends, as the inward-looking predilection was quite… odd in the eyes of the 'culturally elite'—when her omni-tool sounded its familiar chime to announce the arrival of a new message. Tevos finished her current section before opening it, quickly scanning over the final sentences:

_And thus we cannot afford to seal ourselves away to private enclaves of thought, for when our voices ring alone, there is no one to respond to it, no one to validate its weight or to provoke much-needed discourse. Discourse is the mother of progress; an idea is met by another, which shall have some effect, and another idea is sent forth, and another, another, until a new verdict is reached by the participants. To exist among others is to be put on trial, and although we naturally fear that, how else would people be made aware of their relation to the world? Alone, we are voiceless islands, doomed to stagnate, mutate, and warp into context-deprived, quasi-insanity, for a voice spoken to none of its dialectic ilk is doomed to nonexistence regardless of how loud its bearer screams to the heavens, for the sky is quite deaf and mute._

Tevos gave a private smile at the last statements before touching the interface of her tablet to insert a bright violet bookmark, then transferred her attention to her omni-tool. After setting her glass of wine safely aside onto her nightstand, she proceeded to read Aria's response to the given information.

_I've received your message,_ Aria wrote. _Confirmation only comes now due to excessive preoccupation._

"Excessive preoccupation," Tevos quietly and absently repeated, wondering what Aria had meant by that. As usual, Aria was horrendously vague about her personal business, but Tevos wasn't sure if she was exactly put off by that. When she thought about it, she decided she really didn't want to know about everything Aria was up to, which was apparently a lot of things as evinced by her prudent phrasing. However, Tevos was able to detect something else within the meager words; data on Aria's current state. If she was busy, she was probably also healthy.

Tevos entered her reply, _Feeling better, then?_

After sending it, she paused to reconsider what she had said, and whether it was appropriate to say. Was the quip too friendly? Was it unprofessional, or did that not matter? Was she expected to uphold professionalism with Aria like she was with other diplomatic correspondents? She could not retrieve an answer from the wells of her judgment.

Aria was not a conventional contact. The necessity to preserve a reputable impression was borne from their mutual pride, not from any erected protocols. And formalities were not imperative, despite Tevos' deeply-ingrained habit to utilize them anyway. They alone determined the conversational climate whenever they spoke, and they rarely policed casual tones. As far as Tevos could remember, she only demanded civility and respect. It was quite peculiar, for out of every person Tevos regularly spoke to, Irissa was the sole other who enjoyed informality with her. But what did that make Aria? A friend? _Goddess, no… Well, perhaps?_

While Tevos was lost to her thoughts, yet another reply found her inbox:

_Yes, actually. I still can't believe you've gotten yourself into this mess. All this trouble over a simple aphrodisiac is not only ridiculous, but it's also stupid. Risking your relations to an entire people's society, and for what? To stop people from having a good time? If you're worried about health ramifications—everyone's going to die eventually anyway. The least you could do for your people is allowing them the ability to choose the manner._

Tevos immediately began entering her reply, _Well, I suppose our perceptions diverge at motivation. I'm more holistically interested in my people's health. You must take into consideration that everyone is exposed to particularly harmful drugs, children often included, who have not yet developed sophisticated decision-making skills._ She paused, pondering her next string of words. _Though I suppose trying to sway your opinion is futile, as usual. It seems that a dispute over our ideologies is inevitable between us, unless we abstain from speaking altogether._

She meant it with more levity than contempt, and hoped Aria would pick up on that even through the contextually neutral medium of text. As she patiently awaited Aria's next response, she retrieved her glass of wine from its perch and sipped at it. Sometimes, the interval between messages could stretch on for nearly ten minutes at a time as sheer distance created lag, even if one composed their replies without delay and sent them through the extranet. Communication rooms equipped with powerful, expensive transmitters were more desired for lengthy conversations, and Tevos greatly preferred them—not only could she see another's body language, but more words could be exchanged in a shorter amount of time. She stared off at a wall, holding her glass aloft beside her neck while tapping her fingertips against its surface, eliciting a series of soft, rhythmic tings.

At last, Aria's next message arrived, _I'm not ideological. That's a common misconception. I am the absence of the ideology, imposing no personal philosophies on anyone and letting my people roam free so long as they don't interfere with my ambitions. It's a simple concept, really. What are you doing?_

Tevos found herself unconsciously smiling until she came upon Aria's final question. What an odd thing to ask—it was sudden, discordant, and almost intrusive in the way that she was arbitrarily requesting non-essential information. On a whim, it seemed. Tevos wasn't obliged to answer, but the question perplexed her, so she humored Aria in hopes to unveil her motivations, _I am, at the moment, holding a small conversation with you. Previously I was reading and in the near future I will be turning in for the night. Why do you ask?_

Yet another waiting period passed over the silence of her bedroom, through which she patiently endured.

_I like to know the status of my correspondents_, Aria wrote. _It's strategic, of course._

_Or merely being nosey, _Tevos remarked.

She entered the standard waiting period. It was strange, she began to notice, how each span of empty time entertained itself by sending small waves of apprehension through her body, closely resembling that fuss she felt whenever speaking to Aria over vid comm. However, the feeling was acute now unlike its other continuous, albeit subtler incarnation. She tried not to pay it too much attention, instead distracting herself by gazing down into the richly-hued wine, examining the fractured light quivering along its surface, integrity susceptible to even the tiniest motions of her hand. She eventually consumed what remained before receiving Aria's next response:

_Or being passionate about information._

Tevos let a short, soft laugh pass through her lips upon reading the pirate queen's words, clutching her emptied wine glass in a curled hand with the cool lip grazing her jaw. But as soon as she became conscious of her reaction, she stopped, banishing mirth from her face; she was admittedly a little ashamed for laughing and wished to revoke the action, even though no one was around to witness it. For it was so unsettling that someone like Aria T'Loak could still genuinely amuse her after all these years spent walking on ice, tolerating the far-reaching effects of each other's decisions, sometimes bickering, even threatening to deliberately break treaty on several occasions. Oh, why did she suddenly feel so jovial? It was most certainly the few glasses of wine she had—Tevos set her glass down again on the nightstand, as if distancing herself from associated objects would mitigate the alcohol's effects. Before she could think of anything to say in return, she received another strand of Aria's words.

_By the way,_ Aria wrote,_ how do circumstances look for those corporations? If things get any worse, I'm abandoning them completely. I'm not going to let my credits burn with them. And how are you handling the situation involving the turian councilor? The last I heard about that, it wasn't getting any better either._

She replied, _The corporations are preparing for litigation. They've made a few public announcements, but they were of little consequence, it seems. I can't predict the future, but you know my stance on the matter regarding the allocation of your credits—best removed from those horrid companies regardless of whether or not you secure any profits. As for Councilor Estulius and I, I do not wish to speak extensively about it. The situation is delicate. We have been 'plotting' a countermeasure, however, which could potentially solve the ordeal. That is all I shall say._

While she waited, vaguely realizing that their conversation had lasted much longer than she would have liked, putting her into the hours she normally slept through in preparation for the next day's high demands, she remembered the discussion she had with Councilor Estulius earlier that day. She remembered his compliment to her: _veracious,_ and she grew a bit weary at the recollection. How ironic was it that she was currently speaking to Aria T'Loak, the person with whom atrocities had been committed which could discredit her in an instant? She was not so veracious at all, Tevos somberly accepted. But their unmentionable actions did not cause anything bad to happen. In fact, maybe they had even contributed to long-lasting peace between their realms. If they hadn't developed a degree of fondness for one another, could one of their many disagreements over the years have led to a severed pact, and perhaps ignited hostilities anew? So in a way, could their _horrific _action have not been so universally horrific at all when viewed in conjunction with the last, relatively peaceful half-century?

_Wait_, she thought, _am I defending what happened? Am I justifying it, rationalizing it? Or am I just defending myself? _

Whatever her unconscious intention was, all forms of attempted justification were unacceptable.

Aria wrote minutes later, following Tevos' session of self-reprimand,_ Plotting? I thought you only plotted with me._

Tevos might have expressed amusement again if she hadn't been utterly confounded by the words and still moderately distracted by her other concerns.

Just what was Aria doing? Her tone was amiable, suspiciously deviant from her usual coldness. Was she just in a good mood? That was a reasonable possibility—after all, Aria was on her feet again, freed from the yoke of vulnerability. But when had Aria ever been in a good enough mood to become… _playful?_ Was that the right word, Tevos wondered? She was obviously instigating a rare jaunty exchange, but why? The councilor inwardly frowned when she considered Aria trying to put Tevos in a good mood only to charm her and manipulate her proclivity to act in her interest; ultimately preparing to ask a condemnable or outrageous favor. But there was only one way to confirm or disprove it, Tevos told herself, and that was taking the bait for the time being, and seeing where it led.

_Are you envious?_ Tevos inquired.

_I'm more so disturbed,_ Aria replied at length. _Elite politicians conspiring with other elite politicians? Unheard of. _

_Since the functional value of this conversation has long expired, _Tevos typed with a faint smile, _I'll be getting to sleep now._

If Aria had ulterior motives, she would definitely reveal them now, the councilor thought. While waiting for Aria's response, Tevos rose to transport the device from which she read books to its proper place on a shelf, and made a short trip to her kitchen to wash out her wine glass and return it to its home in a cabinet. When she entered her bedroom again, Tevos switched off the lights in time to be alerted of Aria's incoming message. She accessed it after settling into bed, the glow of her omni-tool's interface scattering around the room and illuminating every shadow and surface it touched.

_Keep me updated on anything notable_, was all Aria said.

Tevos averted her eyes from the text, exhaling as mild confusion settled over her once more. If not to persuade Tevos to carry out one of her reprehensible propositions, why had Aria addressed her with… friendliness? Perhaps a good mood brought it forth, like Tevos had initially suspected. She could see no other reason for it.

Unless… Aria was communicating _interest_.

The felt talons of fear creeping along her flesh. No, that was positively absurd, and there was no reason for Aria to even try because the councilor once made it quite clear that she never again wanted anything to do with such behavior. Surely Tevos hadn't involuntarily conveyed interest or willingness during their recent talks, had she? Even when Aria gave her those unnerving leers, Tevos made a point to appear unreceptive. But there was always the possibility that Aria had seen through her efforts, discovering that she was indeed affected, and was now proceeding to capitalize on the tiny indication that Tevos was not completely uninterested. But she _was_ uninterested, wasn't she? She didn't see Aria as a limerent object, right?

She didn't want this. She would _never _consciously want this; not while she still possessed a single ounce of sanity.

She hoped she was merely reading too deeply into Aria's messages. Being over-analytical or even paranoid was a more welcomed fate than having Aria's 'attention'. But as usual, there was absolutely no way to tell what Aria was thinking, no way to stealthily enter her thoughts and determine whether or not Tevos was correct. It made the councilor's tame curiosity burn into the _need _to know, but it was left unsatisfied from her inability to effectively investigate Aria's private musings. The only remaining approach was a direct one. A verbal confrontation.

But how would one go about asking such a frightful, ineffable thing? How could Tevos possibly present her query in a way that would not only save herself from abject ridicule, but also in a manner which would obligate Aria to answer truthfully? The feat would be nigh impossible.

An orange glow reignited within the dark blue night as she resurrected her message client from her wrist, daring to attempt composing her terrible question to assess whether its creation truly was an unfathomable thing. She made to reply to Aria's last message, only lacking any intentions of following through. But even in this hypothetical scenario, essentially meant as a benign rehearsal, Tevos found herself wordless for the better portion of a minute before her fingers tentatively began to move across the projected keyboard.

_For fifty years I have been haunted by idle speculation, _she wrote_, and against that steady attrition over time, my mind's voice has fared utterly alone. And you know what I speak of. Curiosity torments me anew as of late, filling my head with this—_she paused, searching for an accurate term—_wonder, always threatening to spill over at the most inopportune moments_. _It wants—no, demands—to be acknowledged and addressed, brought elucidation… resolution._ _I am bewildered at what happened. I am bewildered by its origin and its lingering presence. What was that terrible event? Was it violent mental illness propagated from our apparently toxic proximity? Was it an invention of our own self-centered desires, or something similar to that cognitive dissonance one feels when standing at the edge of a disquieting precipice and somehow… experiences a peculiar urge to jump? Have I fallen victim to that same phenomenon yet again as I type now, straddling the precipice, flirting with the disaster that may arrive if I brought these thoughts into our discourse?_

Tevos stalled with grim hesitation. Her trepidation, channeled by her digits, was manifesting into minute trembles as she continued, _Oh, how I wish to speak about this, and yet how terribly I do not—But what did it mean, Aria, and what does it mean to either of us now? Have we obliterated it, stripped it of any lasting significance, or does it linger in another form, dormant, asleep? Were we simply reckless, out of our minds? The answer to that is invariably yes… I suppose my revised question is thus: What threw us out of our minds? Was it maddened biological instinct, or the lust for selfish triumph over the other in our respective manners? Or perhaps both? And beneath your interminable, cryptic silence, do you wonder similar things, or have you truly liberated yourself from the past? Do you habitually take lovers and proceed to forget them, and is that what trivialized our encounter even in spite of my profile? And would your answers—if you answered—engage the future? Will I indulge in wines like these more often? Will I blearily type out more hypothetical or even legitimate (Goddess forbid) messages like this in a vain attempt to understand why something like this haunts me as much as it does? What a peculiar thing this is, Aria. I think I have drank a bit too much tonight._

She stopped, reading over what she had entered and decided her words were not only too incomprehensible, but also too foolish to ever be read by another pair of eyes. But she struggled to part with them. They were her sincere, sacred thoughts poured directly from her mind into a measureable state of existence, and the unique scarcity of her first attempt convinced her to not delete it. Plus, the composition had salvage value if she ever desired to try directing the legendary question at Aria again. Tiredly, with the soothing pulse of alcohol gently coursing through her veins and rounding the sharp edges of her usual wit, she lifted a finger to store the message in her drafts, but instead of moving it to the intended destination, a single moment carelessly spent under the influence of sheer habit had her mistakenly sending it along.

After a moment of oblivion spent processing what had just happened, Tevos' heart began to pound ruthlessly against her ribs as her eyes widened in horror—temperate green orbs in the darkness of her room, swimming with lurid shadows of her unfolding panic. She frantically searched the screen in vain for some miraculous way to vitiate the message's journey, unwilling to accept the reality of her devastating error while simultaneously cursing herself for operating under the combined debilitations imposed by the late hour and imbibing.

_No-no-no-no_, she despaired within her silent tempest of fear. _Oh goddess, no, please no…_

Nervous hands were lifted to her face, covering her nose and mouth as she stared blankly at her legs, hidden beneath her sheets and crossed over by a slanted, thin column of light seeping through the parted curtains over her window. Her panic was steadily transforming into shock, an instant of nothingness, disbelief; as if such an enormous tide of distress had washed over her that her body had resorted to completely depriving her of the ability to do herself any more harm through self-inflicted mental torture.

_What a disaster,_ she hollowly thought when emerging from her reprieve. _What an absolute disaster I've foolishly gotten myself into… I shouldn't have done that at all. I shouldn't have written a single word. Oh, the worst that can go wrong truly does go wrong, doesn't it? Goddess! Not only must I endure the shame of having Aria read it, but I must also anticipate her response! Please be merciful and give me silence, you villain. Just allow me to pretend this never happened…_

As if in deliberate disobedience of Tevos' pleas, a reply found her a few minutes later, inducing tremendous dread within the councilor's stomach as she read the obscure, almost mocking reaction,

_What label of wine?_

Mortified, Tevos reclined against her pillows as both hands slowly rose to mask her entire face.

* * *

:::

* * *

Zuria traveled up the steps and into Aria's lounge after the guards let her through, and found the woman comfortably seated on her sofa with the radiant glow of her omni-tool washing over her features. When she approached, her superior afforded her a fleeting glance before inputting a string of text, but did not say anything until Zuria came to stand directly in front of her, securing her attention by speaking first.

"I need to talk to you."

Aria lifted her cold eyes from whatever she was currently preoccupied with and met Zuria's gaze, casting her an expectant look. She returned her attention to her omni-tool. "Well you're going to have to wait," she vapidly informed her, but when she continued after that, her tone was less harsh and more so sarcastic. "I'm talking to my good friend the asari councilor."

The lieutenant managed a smirk. "Friend, huh? I didn't think it was like that. Whenever you mention the Council it's always about how much their most recent mandate pissed you off."

Her boss spared her another look, this time imbued with a ghost of amusement, but it was so faint that Zuria wasn't completely sure if it was there at all. When Aria averted her gaze once again to reply to a message, she concurrently spoke, "How urgent is your topic of discussion?"

"Moderately."

Aria paused to examine Zuria's countenance for confirmation. "Have a seat while you wait," she said to her, motioning to an open spot.

Zuria did so, sitting down on an adjacent section of the sofa and watched Aria as she navigated through her omni-tool's interface, opening windows, closing windows, rearranging them, reading over sections of text, and replying to correspondents in her instinctively efficient, almost mechanical work process. She remained patiently silent.

"I'm thinking of splitting off Afterlife from the auxiliary floors below," Aria said impassively, never looking away from her screens, "to make this area more… exclusive. Less diluted. I'll call the other floors something else. They're still mine, just not Afterlife anymore and catering to a more general crowd. What do you think?"

Zuria canted her head, a little surprised that Aria was asking her opinion on a business-oriented issue, but then again, it wasn't so outlandish. The issue was quite trivial in comparison to other transpiring operations. "Is there… another reason besides making Afterlife more exclusive?"

The corner of Aria's mouth visibly twitched, but whether it was the stunted root of a smile or a frown was indiscernible. "Yes, in fact," she slowly began while typing in something. "Did you know that the utilities—including the ventilation system in Afterlife—are connected to the lower floors? I'm also severing that."

Zuria nodded, recognizing Aria's desire to reform her fortress after the latest incident. She continued observing her boss for a few more minutes. At one point Aria grew a small smirk while typing, and although it was still one of her usual cunning and cruel grins, the reaction coaxed a perplexed crease to appear in Zuria's brow. She quietly wondered what amused Aria so. Certainly not the asari councilor; that woman was everything Aria traditionally hated, and even if they had agreed to keep peace between the Citadel and Omega, Zuria doubted their relationship was anything beyond a forced one. Aria's pleasure was more likely to have originated in receiving good news from one of her investigation teams deployed earlier that day.

After the smile faded from Aria's lips, she suddenly rose from her seat and motioned for Zuria to follow. She obeyed, trailing behind Aria as she led her out of the lounge, down the steps, and through a guarded door where they emerged into a quieter passage illuminated in hazy red. From there, the two entered one of Aria's private rooms, where as Zuria understood, extremely confidential discussions were often held. Whether that was the only purpose of the rooms she had never been completely sure, nor did she ever plan on asking.

The furnishings erected around the small but luxurious area primarily comprised low sofas overflowing with cushions embroidered with opulent designs sewn in bold, royal reds, blacks, and golds. Their luscious fabric retained the faint scent of cigarettes, Zuria noticed as they settled down onto the comfortable arrangement. There were a few cabinets set against one wall, made from a dark wood and containing a variety of bottles, visible past glass panes covering the doors. Zuria vaguely recalled being in the same room once years ago, but back then, it was a stark meeting area complete with a long table and chairs, often used when Aria needed to collectively and personally address her administration. Evidently, Aria had long abandoned obsolete pragmatism for miniature palaces of exquisite self-indulgence. But the room hadn't lost its functionality, of course—the entertaining area had just become more hospitable for her lovely administration and favored company who would, without question, consume the offered molecules of Aria's fabulous wealth like the acceptance of a clever subliminal bribe.

While Zuria adapted to the new surroundings, surveying the environment with great interest, Aria had opened her omni-tool's mail client again and was presumably reading a new message. As per usual, Zuria watched her without uttering a word, and this time, her close scrutiny rewarded her with a striking novelty: Aria's expression, first relaxed in its default state—a perpetual aspect of mild displeasure—was gradually overcome by something quite strange. Zuria's first conclusion was that Aria was surprised, but she was doubtful of her own judgment. Why would Aria be surprised by anything? The more she observed her superior, however, the more her doubt faded into legitimate plausibility. Aria _was_ surprised. Not shocked or shaken, but suddenly displaying piqued interest, as if some element in the conversation she was holding had temporarily confounded her enough to force her into a pause. After staring at the screen for a long while, Aria finally entered a brief reply, closed the mail client, and although she still remained outwardly distant and distracted, a hint of gratification rose to life in her eyes. Apparently conscious of Zuria's monitoring, Aria dismissed all traces from her face and turned to her, now ready to initiate their private discussion.

"What did you need to talk about?" asked Aria, reclining back against the sofa and its lavish cushions.

Zuria hesitated, gathering her courage. She wondered if Aria already knew what she meant to talk to her about, and whether she had taken the precaution of relocating them to a more appropriate spot because of her presumption. Well, if Aria_ had_ correctly anticipated the subject matter, Zuria reasoned, that meant she was not completely opposed to hearing about it, and was generously giving her 'new' right-hand lieutenant a chance.

"I wanted to talk about Liselle," Zuria bravely began, carefully watching Aria's eyes for hostile glints. No matter Aria's mood or openness toward hearing Zuria out, treading lightly was still very necessary.

"What about her?" Aria inquired, sounding unnervingly impartial, her posture just as self-assured, lofty, and aristocratic as it had been throughout all the time Zuria had known her. But no, not quite the _same_. It had evolved over time, refined from its not-so-humble confident, boastful origins and into something less obvious. Something well-established and now made ubiquitous, as if Aria had realized she no longer needed to gloriously vaunt her power, for it was ever-present now, always emanating from her image; intangible, but creating a similar effect within the hearts of her loyal onlookers as would occur if she physically forced them to kneel.

Zuria drew in a breath before answering, "I really think you should reconsider having her on these missions. I don't think she's ready, and that's coming from my perspective as her biotic mentor and supplementary guardian. I was in the apartment when Liselle returned—awfully frustrated and dejected at her assignments being delayed—and she spent the evening with us all. Sulking, mostly. I spoke to Iaera after Liselle went to bed early. She's a wreck over this, Aria. Iaera's so worried about Liselle, and she can't say or do anything about it. Neither can any of the commandos. But all of us, without a single variance in opinion, agree that Liselle just isn't ready for any of this. I mean… out of us in the apartment, Iaera has spent the most time with her, and she's absolutely convinced that something will go wrong."

Aria had lifted a hand while Zuria spoke, absently running her fingertips against a cushion's seam as she stared at the other asari with growing disdain. "I don't care about what Iaera thinks is best for Liselle," she coldly said, averting her gaze to study the fine threads beneath her fingers. "She isn't her mother."

Zuria felt her temper starting to boil, but kept herself in check. "She's her mother nearly as much as you are. We are all her family, Aria."

The next look Aria gave her sent chills of apprehension down Zuria's spine. The lieutenant was admittedly a little scared, as was the appropriate reaction to Aria T'Loak's glowering. She desperately tried to prevent her reflexive inner turmoil from noticeably surfacing in her body, but Aria had probably already detected it. Aria knew—Aria always knew.

"Listen, Aria," Zuria said, "Liselle's going to get herself hurt out there. It's only a matter of time. Do you really want to let her get mixed up in all this? Do you really want to take this risk?"

Aria's glower had developed into pure indignation. It was venomous, amplified by the malevolent, steady rising and falling of her shoulders with every breath, as if they could hardly contain the anger raging within. "…Liselle is _my_ daughter," Aria began, speaking lowly and clearly with all the tones of a deadly warning. "And you have no place in telling me how to treat her. The people of Omega are free; I keep them free from oppressive laws and bureaucratic bullshit. Things restricting people from living their lives as they please. Do you really think I would turn my back on all that and imprison _my own daughter_ within the things I've always stood against? She is _my child_, my flesh and blood, and she will not be denied her basic rights to control her own life."

They exchanged a lengthy, tense stare during which Zuria overcame the worst of her fears discouraging her from retaliating against the injustice found in Aria's words, and more importantly, from continuing to issue arguments in defense of Liselle's safety. "It's always about you, isn't it?" she said, refusing to shrink beneath the wild ire swiftly mounting in Aria's face. "You think you're doing her a service, but you're not. You're only saving yourself from hypocrisy; shielding _yourself_ from Liselle's resentment by not bothering to shield _her_."

The very moment Zuria's final statement left her mouth, Aria lunged forward, carried on the storms of her anger, and slammed the lieutenant to the wall behind her with a seamless marriage of biotic power and physical strength while a hand grasped her neck in a painful vise. She was squeezing, nails viciously biting into her quarry's skin. And Zuria, initially stunned by the attack, struggled in vain against her captor as she found it increasingly difficult to breathe with every second spent within the brutal grip; the sensation of dizzying pressure in her skull rapidly building while blood desperately fought to pump past the dam of Aria's hand.

How many people had Aria killed through this method? Zuria wondered this, and things of similar nature while at the pirate queen's mercy. How many people, in total, had died in this very room by either her own hand or direct order? Did Aria sleep here sometimes? Zuria knew Aria would often retreat to her private backrooms to sleep, so the likelihood that this area, so suitable for lounging, served as one of those locations was high. Did Aria bring special company here? Intimate partners? What had happened in this very spot, and did Aria also find it curious that such a widely diverse array of events could unfold in a single location? It was worth pondering, even as Zuria gasped and choked.

"You think I don't care about her life!?" Aria demanded of her, abruptly pressing her hand harshly into the lieutenant's throat, eliciting a pathetic, strained vocalization. "You think I don't feel anything at the thought of her being wounded or killed? You think I don't love her? Do you think I'm not putting in any effort at all to keep her safe? Do you think it doesn't _fucking infuriate me_ that soon a point will arrive when I can't effectively watch over her anymore!?"

While Aria snarled at her, Zuria remained wide-eyed and attentive despite her steadily-growing terror inspired by a slow suffocation. Even with all her experience as a veteran commando, she knew she would not be able to defend herself from Aria if the latter wanted her dead. If Aria intended to kill her, it would be done, but as the pirate queen spoke to her, punishing her, _correcting_ her misconduct, Zuria was reassured that Aria only wished to frighten her into submission and obedience; to remind her of inferior rank and of Aria's unequivocal authority. Zuria was in no real danger, but dark tendrils of fear still vindictively clutched at her heart.

"And you!" Aria continued, mere centimeters from her face. "So _arrogantly_ questioning me, putting me on trial and believing you have the right to insult me after _assuming_ you understand who I am and what I think! It only proves that after centuries, you still don't know anything about me!" With a final, savage crush of her throat to emphasize her point, Aria released Zuria, who slid back down to the sofa and gasped for air.

Neither said anything more for a long while. Aria glared down at the lieutenant, showing neither pity nor remorse. After Zuria had recovered enough and dragged herself back into an upright sitting position, she contritely looked up at Aria, seeking forgiveness for her infringement. Aria evidently cared about Liselle a great deal. She loved her daughter, but she had also recognized that she could no longer prevent Liselle from doing as she wished. Truly, they were all teetering on the division between protecting Liselle and detaining her, and everyone involved was fighting over which side to stand on, resulting in fractures, arguments, and now… drastic confrontation. And Aria, after vividly illustrating her position, was no less disturbed by the situation than Zuria was. But the decision she had made from the opposite side of the hazardous divide would not be challenged. She wouldn't permit dissent, not even from loyal allies with good intentions.

_Keep Aria's little girl safe._ Years spent repeating that ultimate priority in her head, over and over, had actually influenced Zuria to lash out against the girl's mother herself, but under no other circumstance would she ever dream of committing such a foolish transgression. Her actions and instincts, now put back into perspective, astonished her.

_Goddess,_ she thought, _the lengths to which I have gone to protect that girl… They are parental. What makes Liselle worth fighting Aria for, to abandon all reason and sensibility at once? She's a delightful girl, but I've known many delightful people. Is it only because she is Aria's daughter? Daughter of… Daughter of our… _A mental image of her favorite card game came to mind. _Daughter of our monarch? Daughter of Omega, perhaps._

While Zuria gradually recovered, Aria had left her proximity and was now opening a new bottle taken from the cabinets, her back facing the lieutenant and her rage no longer ablaze as if effortlessly shut off with a turn of a single valve. When Aria returned, settling back down onto the cushions, she extended one hand to offer Zuria a stout glass filled with drink. She stared at the libation in disbelief.

Her eyes were so cold, intrusively staring into her own. They radiated no warmth; only its absence.

What was this beguiling character before her now? She must have spent far too much time absent from Aria's close company, for her current personage had mutated over the ages into an unrecognizable form, so very distant from what it was years ago. Back then, when Aria was debuting, rallying forces all over Omega and overthrowing Patriarch's regime, she had been relatively direct. Though often theatric and exorbitant, Aria was known for streamlining and compressing everything she did into concise, legible, and clear purposes. But now, years in power had distorted her, transforming Aria into an indecipherable, many-faceted puzzle; a labyrinth of complexity, apparent contradictions, and secrets.

The quintessential object representing all that change was right before her face—the glass of alcohol, a gift and gesture of acceptance and concord, yet immediately succeeding the action of throttling and intimidating the person the gift was meant for. It was an astounding mechanism for manipulation, and Aria understood it so frighteningly well.

First came the pain of rejection—Aria's rejection, anger, penalties, and any other form of harsh reprimand—followed by the relief of redemption; it was Aria's communication to the recusant (and she probably only bothered treating her administration or other important persons in this manner), informing them of their supposed great value to her, and even _liked_ by her. Consequently, a notion would be implanted in the recusant's mind, making them believe that Aria had done no wrong at all, that she was their tolerant master at heart forgiving them for otherwise unforgivable subversion, thus reinforcing the idea that _they _were the only ones needing to atone.

As Aria carefully, almost gently slipped the glass into Zuria's hesitant fingers, the lieutenant watched in a slight daze as her own digits closed around it, betraying her own enlightenment of her boss' intentions. Aria was soothing the wounds she had just inflicted, asserting her control, an affectionate dominance; creating a perception inside Zuria's head which illustrated her life's dependency on a merciful aggressor to coerce her respect and even adoration.

Aria was manufacturing dissonance within the lieutenant. A divine confusion. A paradox of fear and admiration, and so long as the victim remained bewildered, they also remained sedated and malleable.

Zuria felt incredibly weary. Amazed and impressed with Aria and her evolution, yes, but immensely unnerved all the same. Slowly, she brought the glass to her lips while Aria abandoned their former subject matter and began speaking about the leads an investigation team currently tasked with tracking down Anikot had made, pointing out his potential usefulness if interrogated, and her ambitions to violently annex the strife-riddled Tuhi District by the end of the next week.

She felt the alcohol gliding down her throat in a warm caress, but the wounds on its outside—tiny bleeding marks along her neck where Aria's fingernails had shallowly pierced the skin—still bitterly stung.

* * *

:::

* * *

Everyone in the apartment was collectively surprised when the girl came through the front door and into the sitting room, carrying acute discontent on her face and the many scents of Omega's streets on her clothes; all cradled within the dominating traces of smoke. She didn't say a single word at first, causing all present residents to reflexively inquire whether she was all right, and if something bad had happened.

She moodily shook her head, still obviously frustrated, and briefly explained that her team's mission had been delayed for an indeterminate amount of time. It was, above all dejection and disappointment, _embarrassing_. Liselle would have rather come home injured and in pain than returning in this fashion; she would have bore wounds proudly like medals for bravery and service, but today her chance to enter the underworld and all its danger had been stolen from her, instead sending her home with shamefully unmarred flesh.

Nevertheless, she didn't scorn the people delighted to see her unharmed. In spite of her ill mood, she hugged Iaera and Zuria and returned the cheerful greetings of the commandos, who were preparing to leave for another assignment Aria was sending them on. For the remainder of the evening, Liselle sat with the two matrons after eating, and they discussed current events. She didn't speak much—opting to listen to Zuria's accounts involving much work and arrangements being completed with Aria and the rest of her administration, which at the moment contained only two other people.

"It's actually reminiscent of the old days," Zuria had remarked. "Back when Aria's administration was almost completely made of asari. There's just Renaga, Dissia, and myself right now. Aria says she's got her eye on a potential fourth member—another old friend, it seems—and might try recruiting her soon. I'm not allowed to give out the name yet, unfortunately."

Liselle went to bed early that night, but spent most of the first hour staring up at the ceiling, thinking about her squadmates and her mother.

After a night of restless sleep, Liselle awoke to a message on her omni-tool. She groggily sat upright, wiping her face with one hand to help shed the sleepiness away and identified the message as orders from Aria. She immediately opened it and read:

.

TO: LISELLE KASANTIS  
FROM: ARIA T'LOAK  
SUBJECT: Orders

I have an assignment for your team. I want you all to head over to Afterlife and have a chat with Patriarch. He hears a lot of rumors from contacts and sells 'business advice' to a certain clientele. I want to know if he's heard anything even remotely associated with recent incidents, or if he's hiding something he knows he shouldn't. You don't have to conceal your allegiance, I actually want him to know you've been sent by me. Rasma will know what to ask him. You and Malak stay at her side with your guns out. Make a good impression.

.

Her immediate reaction was thus: _Why do you want us to go talk to someone who's likely thirty seconds away from you?_

While Liselle tried to make sense of the orders, she dutifully sent them along to her other teammates and began hastily preparing to leave. At first, when she was pulling her arms through the sleeves of her commando attire, she suspected that Aria was giving them a basic low-risk assignment only to further keep Liselle out of trouble. She felt nothing but anger at the possibility and prayed that a discussion with Patriarch was actually something Aria truly needed done, and wasn't just 'busy work' for them to give the illusion of legitimate activity, which would in theory keep their mouths shut.

Soon she received confirmation from both her teammates and all agreed to meet in front of Afterlife before going in. After she was dressed and ready, Liselle emerged from her bedroom to inform Iaera that she was leaving, to which the matron responded with a reluctant nod and a sincere wish of good luck. Zuria and the commandos were already gone—the commandos at their new post, and Zuria was likely convening with Aria—so Iaera was left in the apartment alone. Liselle felt a little guilty for leaving her so, but she had no choice; she was on orders like everyone else, and was expected to carry them out without looking back.

During her cab ride, Liselle recalled that she had never personally been to Afterlife before. She'd seen numerous pictures and vids of the interior as well as examples of all the decadence taking place there throughout the years. When she was younger she was occasionally made uncomfortable by it all, especially when remembering that her mother was always somewhere nearby keeping an eye on the patrons and managing local entertainment events, which were sometimes questionable and even horrifying to the uncalloused spectator. Once while searching the extranet, Liselle had stumbled upon a vid recording of an organized fighting pit where mercenaries fought for a huge prize of credits awarded to the last one standing. Yes, all participants were willing, arguably greedy and voluntarily prepared to beat anyone senseless or even to death in some cases for money, which was a bit disturbing in itself, but was the exploitation or even encouragement of such behavior acceptable? Liselle had been only twenty-something back then, and although she understood what sort of work Aria did, and had been raised to believe it was all a necessarily evil and a prerequisite to become remotely successful in the Terminus Systems, a certain aspect about the nature of the event didn't sit well with her at all.

It was... sad, to see the blood, to watch a vorcha staggering away from his krogan opponent after losing one of his arms, and a batarian mercenary getting run through by a blade before shouting out his forfeit and his urgent need of medical attention in pure agony. It was wasteful. A waste to see so many perfectly good operatives brutalized and incapacitated for the enjoyment of others, whose large endorsing crowds gathered around the scene roared like beasts, cheering and booing and shouting with abandon.

And where was Aria? Finding amusement in whole ordeal, giving her rare laughs from where she watched?

Liselle tapped her fingers upon her leg, staring out the window as a frown marked her brow and lips. Why was she suddenly feeling so angry at her mother? Whenever it happened in the past, Liselle's displeasure would only last for a few hours or a day before fading, but this time it was lasting beyond its normal longevity. She examined her own emotions, searching for their origin, which seemed to be a retaliation borne from all the tumultuous events as of late.

Aria abruptly changing into something else when she was poisoned, invalidating Liselle's childhood perception of her as untouchable; Aria's reluctance to let her join the furtive struggle against their enemy; her obvious, excessive efforts to protect her, even going so far as to hinder a potentially successful team from progressing onto missions where they might have actually gotten something done; Liselle's discontent with being another pawn... It was all rapidly piling up. She loved Aria, but sometimes... she didn't love certain things about her. She _hated_ some things, rather.

Before she could further explore her thoughts, Liselle's cab arrived across the street from Afterlife, ejecting her into the midst of another river of bustling people traveling by, many coming from the fantastic nightclub, heading toward it, or simply lingering and socializing in the area to project an aura of importance. The huge holographic sign towered overhead, flickering the name of the club and abstracted visuals of dancers and other enticing sights. After gathering her bearings and scanning the many faces, Liselle located her two teammates and approached where they stood loitering along a guard rail dividing the street from the dreary emptiness between many spires beyond and below. When she joined the two unhappy operatives, the trio wordlessly started toward the club's entrance.

While dodging around traffic again like the previous day, Rasma asked aloud to Liselle, "This is all she sent you? No more specifics other than what you passed on to us?"

"That was it," she replied.

"Isn't it a little odd that Aria wants other people to talk to Patriarch when she's usually sitting just a dozen meters away?" Malak inquired to both of them, once again exhibiting his apparently inherent tendency to question orders regardless of who they came from. "If she wants Patriarch to talk, I would think she'd rather do it herself. Even with us three combined, we're not going to be able to intimidate the guy like Aria can."

"Maybe Aria's too busy," said Rasma.

They had to stop to inform the bouncer of their business, who spent a moment checking their IDs before letting them through. Behind them, complaints arose from the line leading up to the nightclub, which the three of them had completely bypassed. The front door opened, letting deep red light spill over their bodies as they began traveling through a hall lined with sofas and holographic fires blazing across the walls. The faint, muffled thuds of the music playing throughout the main floors bled into the area.

Liselle, though already entranced by the room, also donated a generous portion of her thoughts to the question on all of their minds: Why send them to talk to Patriarch when Aria could've done it herself? The old krogan, as Liselle understood, was completely obsequious to Aria's authority and had accepted his current state of deprived power—a broken man in every respect, a shadow of his former glory, utterly removed from a time when he might have posed a serious threat to his enemies. Or maybe he wasn't as broken as they thought. Perhaps he still harbored resentment and bitterness. But even then, Aria herself was still far more suited for extracting information out of him.

By the time they reached the middle of the hall, a final plausible scenario found Liselle.

"Maybe she doesn't want to directly speak to Patriarch because it'll make her look bad," she suggested, catching the attention of the two walking beside her. "If she personally goes to him, wouldn't that make Aria appear desperate for information?"

Malak shook his head. "Wouldn't matter. Patriarch knows his place and no matter how Aria comes off, he'll still be beneath her."

"Or it'll go to his head," said Liselle. "He might just withhold something to see where it leads. You can't honestly believe that Patriarch wouldn't take an opportunity to take back some of his former power if the chance was given to him. What's he have to lose at this point?"

At Liselle's left, Rasma actually smiled. "This kid's got a good head, Malak," she said to the batarian, who frowned. "You might have been wrong in judging her so quickly. Like I said, I think Aria knows exactly what she's doing."

Pride swelled within the maiden as they emerged onto the main floor and were suddenly engulfed by the music; its pounding electric hooks and heavy resounding thuds. There were lights all around. Light and bursting life; burning like the theme of fire enclosing them on all sides. People were moving around, talking in close proximity to one another to defeat the blaring sounds, some dancing, others drinking at the bars. And above their heads was the luminous holographic tower encompassed by a circular platform, upon which dancers strut. What light from the brilliant tower impeded by their bodies left them in shadow, like a diorama of dark, elegant silhouettes—exemplary representations of the fabled asari sensuality, liberated from their personal identities and free to smugly flaunt their possession of the galaxy's current idealized beauty.

Liselle felt her face growing warm in slight abashment. They were very pleasing to look at, not to mention quite glamorous with their lithe, fluent movements. The dancers must have had a fantastic job here. Being employed to dance in this famous location inevitably meant having Aria's favor, and Aria's favor meant they were paid well and enjoyed generous benefits and privileges. As the trio walked in a curve around the centerpiece, Liselle's line of sight still periodically vacillated between her path and the dancers.

She caught sight of the lounge at the back of the nightclub. There was no way to see into it, but Liselle knew enough about Afterlife to recognize the location where her mother was most often found. Was she there right now? Could she have been watching them at that very instant?

"Hey, hurry it up!" Malak barked to Liselle when her paces slowed.

She made haste to catch up before they all meandered toward the door of a private room branching off from the main area. Before they entered, however, Rasma stopped them.

"Guns out, like the orders said," she told them. "Don't point them at anyone, though. Just keep them in hand."

They did as she said. Malak retrieved an assault rifle from his back, and Liselle pulled her submachine gun from its holster. Unfortunately, her new firearm drew undesired attention from her batarian ally.

"Where the hell did you get that?" he asked.

Before she could answer, Rasma exasperatedly intervened.

"That doesn't matter," she quickly said. "Let's just get in there and get what we can from Patriarch. I don't want either of you speaking too much, understand? Malak speaks like an angry child and Liselle probably_ is_ a child. Patriarch isn't going to take you seriously if you open your mouths."

While her comment rendered Malak indignant, Liselle was momentarily stunned with a blend of fear and panic. Was her youth that obvious? Had she really failed so badly in presenting herself as at least over a century in age that Rasma had just disregarded her dossier's information completely, dismissing it as blatantly fraudulent? If so, why hadn't she reacted more drastically? Liselle recognized that none of them had exactly made a good first impression on each other during their first meeting the previous day, so why would Rasma remain willing to accept her without an interrogation? Because Aria said to? That might have been the reason. Or perhaps it was because her career in intelligence had exposed Rasma to the statistics of how many people on Omega were currently living under pseudonyms and other false information, and had perceived Liselle's case as just being another of many similar instances. Liselle suspected that as being the most probable reason.

When no one uttered any further interruptions or objections, Rasma led them through the door as it opened upon their approach. They filed into the small room behind her, bathed in dim light once more, and were immediately skewed by the wary gazes of a handful of people seated around the area. Their presence was unexpected and somewhat concerning—three people dressed in mercenary armor with drawn guns was hardly a good sign, and the sight of them actually influenced some people to nervously shift toward the door as they passed by in case the situation was destined for escalation. Among the occupants of the room was their target: a looming krogan with a face subtly creased with age and a crest of uncertain hues, green shades at the base, soon fading into subdued reds and browns. He turned to regard them, cutting his conversation with a few patrons short to address the disturbance.

Without saying anything to the man, the three came to a halt before him, arranged in a small triangle with Rasma at its peak, facing the krogan. Throughout the uncomfortable silence, Liselle stared at Patriarch in mild awe.

So this was once her mother's boss. The former de facto ruler of Omega, at one time the single most formidable warlord in the Terminus Systems. The commander of armies and fleets, unrivaled in firepower for light-years upon light-years in every direction. He was the man who Aria overthrew by carefully infiltrating every level of his syndicate and turning them all against him at once, leaving him the scattered loyalists with whom he desperately waged a losing war against Aria until she finally defeated him in single combat.

_And crushed one of his hearts,_ Liselle added. Aria had never mentioned that part of the story herself, but every version of the tale Liselle ever heard contained that detail. From there, it varied. Some said the organ ruptured and exploded from the force of a tremendous impact caused by Aria's biotics. Others said she delivered a punch so powerful that it tore a hole through his chest and obliterated it.

Regardless of what truly happened, Liselle found it incredibly surreal to be in the company of someone so ancient and symbolic of her mother's prowess and domination. How did Patriarch handle that? How did he live as nothing but a trophy, a warning, an example to all those who dared to challenge Aria? Did he not prefer death over this long-lasting humiliation? From what Liselle had read about krogan culture, one of the worst insults to krogan was being told that he or she was not worth killing. Although Aria had preserved Patriarch because he was still useful to her, he must have felt _some_ of that infamous insult in being spared after their fight.

It must have been more complicated than that, she considered. Not every krogan was necessarily the same, and she was not alive when the legendary takeover happened to experience the staggering power-shift for herself.

"Yeah?" he gruffly asked them when the silence persisted. "What do you want?"

"We have questions on Aria's behalf," Rasma said, unflinching beneath his glare.

Patriarch scoffed. "Ah, 'on Aria's behalf'," he repeated with derision. "So now she's sending little circuses my way? Interesting... Does she mean to entertain me in my monotonous pace of life?"

"Get serious."

He smirked. "You're bold, to channel Aria's authority like that. I suppose having the support of your batarian and asari bodyguards may give you some confidence, yes..."

Rasma, showing no traces of amusement, continued, "We have questions about the issues of disloyalty in Aria's organization and the presence of enemy shadow factions."

After processing her statement of business, Patriarch grinned. "Yes, I suppose that issue has caught her attention, hasn't it? Everyone's heard about what's been happening around here, and not many can predict what'll become of it... So they've got Aria worried, do they? She's finally getting a taste of the inevitable fall, it seems; so much of a taste that she's resorting to asking me for help?"

"She doesn't need your help. But what she_ doesn't_ need is finding out that you've been holding out on her."

Liselle stole a glance at Rasma, feeling a little impressed by her handling of the situation. She silently took note, recognizing her strategy as being accusatory rather than inquiring; with that approach, they were no longer beseeching Patriarch for information, but demanding he exonerate himself by complying.

He let out short, hearty laugh. "So you want to know what old Patriarch's been hearing? Very well. Have a seat, the lot of you. And put those guns away before you shoot yourselves in the feet. Especially the asari—didn't your mother tell you not to aim a gun at anything you don't intend to shoot?"


	8. A Bloated Empire

[ **Chapter 8:** A Bloated Empire ]

* * *

**DAILY SCHOLAR — "Fifty Thousand Years"**

Although many books on asari tradition and cultural attitudes have been published throughout the ages, Doctor Dianth Nenteni [Professor of History at the University of Serrice] has just completed a century-long project she has eloquently named _The Voyage: Examining the Asari Evolution. _The massive treatise has been praised by scholars and critics as a fantastically put-together tome containing a detailed retelling of the asari experience on Thessia to the race's role in modern-day society, all united by Doctor Nenteni's keen perusal and engagingly thorough commentary that interweaves the vast and various historical accounts together into a spectacular understanding of gradual cause and effect. After emerging from the archives and ancient libraries to publish her e-book, Doctor Nenteni gently declined to discuss her experience in gathering all her information and consulting fellow scholars, calling the necessary ordeal 'too tedious and boring to be sensational', and that 'it will all be available for the reader to skim over or ignore as a postscript'. Instead, she generously sent the _Daily Scholar_ an abridged peek at her work, to give our readers—casual, amateur, and professional scholars alike—a better idea about what they can expect to be discussed in her book.

.

**A Simplified Preview of _The Voyage_'s Content, by Dr. Dianth Nenteni**

_Geography Influencing Culture_

Thessia's unique climate and geography may have been the most important factor in galvanizing asari culture as we understand it in both remembrance of the distant past, and what well-ingrained remnants we carry in our genes and instincts to this very day. The visage of the asari homeworld is widely known for bearing thin, winding continents surrounded by seas and mottled by massive lakes, miniature oceans, and athwart with ample rivers bleeding into land like too many veins, leaving the average ratio of shores as compared to 'drier' regions disproportionately larger than what is found on most other race's homeworlds. Although the origins of society spawning along bodies of water is a commonality shared amongst almost all other sapient life discovered to date, the asari's special abundance of water left them without developing a cultural perspective of water as being sacred. It was not sacred because there was always little fear of drought. Water immersed the asari; became completely integrated in daily activity with nearly as much prominence as basic infrastructure and dwellings. As we see today, most of Thessia's largest and oldest cities can be found within a few miles of a coastline, or on the coastline itself.

The development of irrigation was immediate. Near-homogeneous maritime weather kept the climate mild—cool in summers, warm in winters—enabling many crops of early agriculture to be grown and harvested almost year-round. Thessia's relatively small, warm oceans held gentler tides for the lack of a moon, and always kept species of well-adapted fish within reach. Thus the omnivorous diets of early asari, and even today's asari, often contain fish as a staple; other components of early diets as still seen today consisted of fleshy fruits and vegetation as products of the successful, rapidly-growing sophistication of irrigation techniques, only rivaled by the blooming technology of boats, which began carrying trade freely and swiftly about the planet around [40,000 BCE].

When we think of our ancestral asari, a few archetypal images come to mind: a painting of a polished marble pavilion or huge, crescent-shaped patios with curving divans of similar polished stone overlooking a lake or the sea, populated by asari in beautiful robes and dresses lounging around upon cushions while holding glasses of rich wines in their hands. Or, in the case of huntresses and warriors, proud-faced portraits of those depicted in masterfully treated and tailored leather garbs made from pelts and decorated by personal emblems communicating clan or place of birth. These images were true for many, astonishingly. 'Poverty' as we know it was a very recent concept to asari.

There were no shortages of wages, or industries to employ thousands of workers disassociated from their own identity. Food and goods were created as needed, as there was no reason to make any more than what the community required. If one asked the typical hunter or fisher if they ever thought of bringing in extra yields to sell or trade to neighboring villages [depending on whether they shared the same regional currency], she would likely return the inquiry with one of her own, the genuine curiosity of, "Do they not have their own hunters and fishers? Are they hungry over there?"

If one said 'no' in response, the interviewed asari would likely go on to laugh and say, "Then why would I work longer and take away from my own leisure time?"

As a consequence of this common attitude, asari technological advancements grew at glacial paces when juxtaposed with other races of the known galaxy. Life revolved around comforts and leisure; sitting by the sea, by the lake, on the beautiful shores of peninsulas after finishing the day's labor. Being overly ambitious or industrious was actually perceived as a childlike foible; it was the mentality of a _maiden_, adult asari would often say. It was behavior indicative of being fresh from the womb, from finding oneself in a vast and fascinating world, still gathering her bearings and steadily familiarizing herself with existence. It was thought that when an asari matured, her life-essence [i.e. the _soul_, or an animating force as defined by whatever variance of belief system the region held] had symbiotically intertwined with the rest of the world, harmonious and understanding, finding peace in the current reality. And so the adult would settle into that leisurely lifestyle; not stoic, but accepting, and preferring to accumulate further knowledge and realization of the universe rather than trying to exploit it to one's personal benefit, which was regarded as 'industrious', or 'maiden-like' activity.

_Community_

Water, water, water—much more abundant than blood and tears. Communal bath houses exemplify the relationship between water and the asari socially-inclined dynamic. As a luxury disguised as a practical facility, bath houses were highly social places owned and maintained by the community rather than any single financial master. This consummate example illustrates the broader structure of community—a construct based on the virtues of cooperation and taking care of one another as if all were family. Fishers took their hauls to markets and bought textiles, other dietary staples, and desired goods with the money they made. Any surplus consumables were often preserved for monthly galas; parties with no essential purpose save for _more_ socialization revolving around dancing, drinking, rumor, courtship, games, and biotic contests. Historically, Janiris has always been regarded as the most amorous of asari-conceived holidays, specifically known in the isles of Ianthe for being the propagator of orgies [Unfortunately, I will not be discussing that detail in this abridged essay. That, along with sexuality, the fabled beginnings of the utilization of biotics in that respect, a short physiological lecture, and other topics of the ilk will be discussed in the complete e-book version].

The multitudinous micro-governments flourished across Thessia under this conviction of welfare-prioritized government, but there is some debate over whether it was successful solely from the inherent nature of the asari people, or because of a universal social phenomenon observed among all intelligent life, where it is often believed that the smaller the community, the easier it is to keep poverty at bay; for it would be vastly more difficult to see a hungry individual with whom you grew up without sharing your meals or even home with them if you needed to, as opposed to seeing an impoverished stranger to whom you have no personal attachment, let alone a vestige of trust. Naturally, even further conjecture and debate stems from this, often involving the sensitive issue of whether or not joining the galactic community 'corrupted' or even 'destroyed' asari prosperity by introducing modes of 'hierarchical-representational' governance and degrees of private enterprise that Thessia had never seen before.

Instead of monetary emphasis, and while discarding the notion of exclusivity that generally comes with luxury and leisure, asari were most concerned with finding friends to share their worldly and material pleasures with, therefore it was in the interest of many to keep their communities afloat and together. Motivation was also found within inter-community correspondences, where neighboring villages or towns would boast about the utopian merit of their homes, lack of want, the health of young children, and the merriment found at their parties. The 'boasting' was an incredibly maternal practice; it was the pride of a caretaker, clutching her brood—her home—lovingly to her breast, fretting over its state, keeping it well-nourished and well-clothed enough to be proudly introduced and inevitably compared to the work of other mothers.

* * *

:::

* * *

The two politicians strode down one of the spacious, immaculate corridors of the Embassies, heading for an elevator that would bring them to the Citadel Tower for the petitions. Tevos of course had an active role in those; and Irissa, on the other hand, concurrently had other business with some fellow ambassadors presently convening in the lower Council Chambers.

Clean white light splayed over their shoulders. Its judgmental rays silently discouraged any unsavory or arcane conversations, but Tevos defied the atmosphere's decree, keeping the volume of her voice at a minimum as she discussed sensitive events to the trustworthy Irissa while balancing its audibility over their heels faintly clicking against the floors.

"I haven't heard from Spectre Neora in a few days," Tevos grimly reported to her friend as she closed a window projected from her omni-tool. "She hasn't been sending in reports. I confess that I'm beginning to grow concerned—the last time she checked in, she was on Omega doing reconnaissance. I commissioned Spectre Lerath to locate her, and so far he hasn't been able to get in contact with her…"

Irissa spent a few seconds mentally processing the situation. "What if she's undercover? Lerath might interfere."

"I made sure to advise caution."

She gave a single nod. "Or do you think our friend running the show on Omega could have caught Neora?" Irissa wryly proposed. "I wouldn't imagine she'd exactly give Citadel spies a warm reception."

Tevos canted her head in displeasure at the notion, returning the gaze offered by Irissa. "It's a possibility," Tevos admitted. Tiny white atoms of light from above were reflected in the surfaces of her incisive eyes. They belied her much darker cognitions. "But I don't think Aria would eliminate any of my agents without first confronting me about them. You see, she could obtain a lot more from holding a Spectre captive and demanding ransom than she would from merely killing them. I don't believe Aria has a hand in this, no…" She trailed off a moment, recalling more negativity than what she had already presented to Irissa. "And speaking of Aria… I received some chilling news from Asari High Command this morning. Did you receive anything from them? You also had clearance to know this; being their favored potential successor for me if I should be removed from office for any reason. They want you peripherally involved because it may tremendously affect future foreign policy—a disparity you may inherit."

Irissa shook her head to deny it, but her eyes were alight with genuine interest. Their paces eased to a stop, and Tevos glanced about to make sure they were alone in the corridor. She lowered her voice even further.

"They informed me about a few of their own undercover sleeper agents on Omega," she said. "Apparently some of them have been there for years. They've been monitoring the situation there—the skirmishes, the power shifts, the damages to Aria T'Loak's syndicate—and if Aria is overthrown, they plan to infiltrate the remains of her intelligence networks and the higher ranks of her mercenary legions. Essentially, they will be salvaging her crumbling resources to reorganize and resuscitate Aria's regime before her enemy can fill the power vacuum. Asari High Command does not want to lose Omega to an entity potentially hostile toward Council space."

The wideness of Irissa's eyes communicated her surprise. "They're really preparing for this?"

"Yes, I'm afraid," confirmed Tevos, accompanied with a darkening of her expression. "You should receive their formal letter soon."

There was a moment of dismal silence before Irissa finally broke it. "You haven't told Aria T'Loak anything, have you?"

She slowly exhaled, refraining from returning Irissa's inquisitive state. "No. They have asked me to maintain silence."

"…And will you?" Irissa carefully asked Tevos, sensing her slight poignancy.

Tevos, still reluctant to divert her gaze from her path to meet her friend's, did not immediately reply. Of course she _wanted_ to tell Aria, but did she want to because of diplomatic reasons, or for personal ones? Did she place more value in staying on good terms with Aria, or was it because she had somewhat_ befriended_ her and was acting as a friend might? It was a curious question to which she did not have a clear answer.

The embarrassing incident the previous night not only proved to Tevos herself that she harbored a significant degree of interest in Aria, whatever the nature of their relationship might have horrendously mutated into by this point, but Aria had also been inadvertently informed of it as well. But how seriously had Aria taken her proclamation? Had wine's addling vapor tainted Tevos' words, stripping credence from every character, or had it only amplified the truth in them?

No matter Aria's interpretation, Tevos had silently despaired over making a fool of herself. Oh, how Aria must have laughed at her! And what had Tevos even hoped to accomplish with that message? Was it only written to ascertain whether Aria still thought about their unmentionable encounter years ago? But why did the answer matter to Tevos...? The implications nearly made her shudder.

Her thoughts were an entangled mass of personal complications and political actions. The two were incompatible, and wove into quite the monstrous dilemma. She could not afford to let the two sides of her relationship with Aria mix, especially in such a delicate situation lest she bring upon them both terrible consequences as a product of bad judgement or lack of tactful foresight. And even if she were free from risks, Tevos simply did not possess the time nor was she willing to devote the effort required to resolve _whatever it was_ that might have been transpiring between them.

Recognizing her abuse of a pause, Tevos finally said to Irissa, "I haven't decided. If I wish to reveal their plan to Aria I can do so at my own discretion. Given the fact that they only mean to act in the event of Aria's possible death, they are not threatening her syndicate as it stands, so one would assume that Aria need not know at all. One would _assume_, I reiterate, because at the moment I'm not certain if they're being completely transparent with me."

"You think they actually want to help bring Aria down?" Irissa inquired, easily picking up on her subtle insinuation.

Councilor Tevos appeared mildly disturbed, as if Irissa's translation of the otherwise delicate wording caused her acute distress when heard in its concentrated form. "It is a possibility I cannot afford to ignore," she hollowly admitted.

"Well I don't think you should tell Aria T'Loak a single word either way," Irissa generously gave her honest opinion. "I think it's good that Asari High Command told you not to say anything."

"...Good?" Tevos repeated with confusion as they began to walk again.

"Why yes," Irissa replied. "It was appropriately tactful of them. Everyone knows you hate Aria a little less than the rest of us. You've been admirably tolerant of her throughout all these years, Tevos. But it sounds like you may not have to be anymore. Good for you, I'd say." She afforded her a smile.

"What makes you think a replacement would be any more agreeable?"

"Well they'd be specially groomed by Asari High Command, of course. They'd be an excellent correspondent. Just think—for the first time in all the ages of the universe, a tamed Omega!"

"Hardly," Tevos dubiously received the notion.

"Why so pessimistic about that?"

"The denizens of Omega would simply overthrow them," she explained as they passed by an arrangement of healthy green ferns growing in a tall planter built into the wall, leaves reaching up from the soil and placidly hanging over the side of the white structure. "Diplomacy doesn't work there. Leaders are only as strong as their wits, strength, and respect. How could a powerful warlord command their respect if they always complied with the Council? There would be outrage. A puppet or figurehead would be immediately removed, Irissa. You see… if Asari High Command is contributing to Aria's problems, they are only exacerbating the situation. I know there have been many disagreements between Aria and ourselves over the decades, but it will only worsen under any other leadership, and any leader Asari High Command tries to furtively insert in Aria's place will not last long. I can guarantee you that."

Irissa twisted her mouth in distaste. "You really think Aria T'Loak is the best we're going to get?"

"Yes, I do believe that."

"But why? She's _awful_. What makes her so unusually preferred?"

When they reached the elevator, the waiting doors smoothly rolled open for them and let the two file in. "Aria is a known quantity who has shown willingness to listen to reason in times of conflict," Tevos said, choosing the floor containing their destinations from a small glowing panel projected beside the doors. The light was less harsh in the elevator; a creamy, sedated white with the faintest tints of lavender. "Do you really feel comfortable gambling that?" she continued, looking at Irissa again while the elevator steadily began to rise.

Irissa was standing with her arms folded, open to Tevos' reasoning but not appearing as if she predicted to obtain any joy from hearing it.

"A figurehead from Asari High Command, no matter how apparently mighty, would be disposed of very quickly," said the councilor. "If one wishes to rule that sinister station, one must be ruthless and ambitious. An individual who is visibly cooperative with the Citadel would not fit that profile—a cordial relationship with Council space would only broadcast weakness to their entire regime and consequentially make its people wonder if they may be destined for diplomatic obligations, or worse, subjection to Citadel law. It shall not happen, not because we do not will it, but because it is… inconceivable. If we want any positive relationship at all with Omega, even if it's to only be on the terms of a peace treaty, it would best be maintained with Aria T'Loak in power. Her relationship with the Citadel is of a business nature, and since she periodically attempts to make it exploitative—and please do believe me when I say that, for I have stopped counting the times I've declined her incessant bribery offers—she has not lost the trust of her people. Rather than holding the appearance of a weak ruler accommodating foreign rivals, Aria has established herself as an attacker; as if she were encroaching upon the _Citadel_ instead of the other way around. In conclusion, making circumstances more perilous for Aria T'Loak not only severely hurts her, but us as well."

"All right, I reluctantly adhere to your sound logic," Irissa admitted. "_Reluctantly_ because it's Aria T'Loak, but not even I am so begrudging as to call for her demise based on dislike alone. She's relatively valuable and we need to keep her." Irissa paused to give a short, shallow sigh; a sound of concession. "Right. So, with that in mind, we can't have Asari High Command agitating the situation. Have you contacted them with this concern? But more importantly, if you haven't... will they listen?"

"I haven't said a word to them yet," Tevos replied. "And yes, your concern is definitely shared by myself. What if they're acting clandestinely? What if activities are deliberately being hidden from me because they _know_ I will pass information onto Aria, based on my avid involvement in creating our treaty? I have sworn no oath of silence—and in countermeasure, they could merely limit my access to their operations... I hate being blind, Irissa." She averted her gaze, turning it toward the door and staring at its cloudy surface. "I want to know what they're doing. I suppose inquiring won't hurt, though. If I don't say anything at all, I won't have the slightest chance at enlightenment. At the very least, bringing this issue to them gives me the possibility of readmission to their most secretive movements. But what if they still deny me? Will it ever be safe to assume that they aren't meddling? I don't know if I can ever dismiss my paranoia…"

"If they are 'meddling'… Aria needs a heads-up," Irissa said. The elevator arrived at the highest floor at last, opening its doors again to release the pair into the dusk-hued Council Chambers. After stepping out into the open hall lined with radiant, pink-leafed trees whose Thessian longevity made them a nearly permanent decorative arrangement, they stopped once more to continue speaking.

"She probably does needs an update," Tevos agreed, "but I don't know if I can tell her myself. Asari High Command might listen in to my correspondences with her. Although I'm not legally obligated to stay quiet... warning Aria about anything, in spirit, can be interpreted as traitorous. "

"Eavesdropping like that is illegal," Irissa said with audible derision. "And I doubt they would expose you for any quasi-treasonous conduct, because it would simultaneously incriminate themselves for their method of gathering such evidence. So what would they do instead? Will they turn against you in other matters? Set you up for a shitstorm? But they aren't our enemies... We aren't supposed to be enemies, Tevos! Goddess, they're supposed to _like _you. They like you a lot; I've been convinced of it!"

"Do they, Irissa?" she asked her. "Or is it like how you once illustrated, that I am worth more as a member of a wealthy bloodline who they can influence through me; that I was younger than other candidates, therefore easier to control? You might have been more correct than what I was initially willing to acknowledge. We cannot know any of these things for certain."

Irissa gave her a strange, perplexed look. "I never thought you'd become this horridly paranoid of everything Tevos. I understand some things would bother you, certainly, but to this extent? Are you really so doubtful of their opinion of you? I, for one, still have copious faith in the idea that they're still rather fond of you and agree with your policy."

"I mean no harm by this Irissa, but… when you learn of things I have—the existence of certain entities, objects, _designs_—you truly begin to doubt many things your suspicion would never have otherwise touched." Tevos paused, developing a fleeting albeit significantly troubled quality in her features. She resumed, very,_ very_ quietly, "I suppose what I mean to say, Irissa, is that the old conception of asari hardly ever being engulfed in war is somewhat false. We just don't fight wars with guns and ships as other species are accustomed to. We fight with information. We eliminate few, and we do it quietly. We bargain and talk with smiles on our faces and knives in our sleeves, and such is our politics. We excel at deception and thrive in secrecy. So you see why I obsessively cast my gaze over my shoulder. Being a councilor has done nothing to remedy that. These past fifty years have done to me what almost six hundred previous ones could not. What shocks you now, those things I am sometimes authorized to reveal to you, are only an auspice of what is to come if you should ever become councilor. There are things in this galaxy that I profoundly wish I never came to know of. It is... It is probably why asari councilor elections happen every centennial. So that the liability of having retired councilors carrying around certain information is reduced."

Irissa said nothing, watching Tevos intently with abundant concern, but she had no words available.

"But that is my burden now and I voluntarily, dutifully carry it... along with my resulting _paranoia_," Tevos concluded in an effort to retrieve their conversation from darker areas. "Or trust issues; is that a proper summation? I believe it to be. You know I have a great dislike for acting in more... _unorthodox_ manners, but I fear that I might have to in the coming days. Maybe even to the point of personally convening with our 'Terminus friend' to bring some effective resolution to some of these current issues."

"_Please_ don't tell me you want to invite her here again..."

"I'm only noncommittally considering the idea at this point," Tevos reassured the despairing Irissa. With every passing minute, the other asari seemed to descend further into exasperation. "I should confront Asari High Command before doing anything of the sort. Perhaps, if I remain very open to them with all my concerns and give them the same lecture I gave you about why it would be a horrid idea to sabotage Aria, they will include me in any secretive designs, or even better, discard them after my appeal if they did indeed have them."

Irissa gave a long sigh. "Yes, yes, you do that. Just another problem to add to the mountains that have been rudely dumped onto us over the past month. A massive drug resurgence, more economic dips being anticipated after the lawsuit against those corporations, another possible row with the Batarian Hegemony... and now we've got Asari High Command potentially working on something _diabolical_ again. Everything's such a mess... Might you have anything more to add?" She gave Tevos a fatalistic grin, accepting the dreary state of things and only finding ironic, almost masochistic humor in the prospect of things getting any worse.

"As a matter of fact," began the councilor, continuing even as Irissa's expression dropped into visible anxiety again, "I've been meaning to ask you something, but our time was consumed by all these talks of less jovial things. We can speak of it later, perhaps in my office when we find the time. Or tonight—whichever ends up being more convenient for us both. It's about my family's party. I want you to come with me as an additional guest." Before Irissa could answer, Tevos began walking again, through the ancient synthetic valley bathed in fuchsia-violet light leaking through the leaves above.

"Are you serious?" Irissa worriedly asked while taking a few quick paces to catch up to Tevos, whose immediate proximity had been lost through a moment spent in stationary surprise. "First of all, you've decided to go? Why? You haven't told me a thing about that. And secondly, why bring me? With all due respect, your relatives are likely to look down their noses at me, wondering why their councilor cousin brought some poor provincial mongrel with her. I'm none of those things, let that be clear, but that's what they'll think of me. And I won't have any of that."

"If anyone's provincial it's my family themselves, ironically," Tevos said with a slight, sly smile. "Segregating themselves from the rest of society in the rural northeast, and such. I can assure you with a fair amount of confidence that you won't receive any foul comments. After all, the prestige of your occupation supersedes the blood you came from. My family is not impractical; quite the opposite, actually. They have great use for other influential individuals, to, shall we say, become part of their circles. And to answer your other question... it would be better to discuss my plans and intentions at length on our own time. But I will tell you this now: Estulius and I deliberated yesterday, as you remember, and he presented an idea to me which I've spent the past evening and subsequent morning considering, and my current sway is actually leaning in favor of it."

"A... plan? Something _unorthodox, _you mean?"

"Hm, yes. That's an appropriate word. Now isn't the time to discuss it, unfortunately. We're both going to be tardy for our respective appointments if we continue chatting any longer."

"You know, Tevos," said Irissa, "despite these centuries spent being your friend, I admit that even now I'm still learning things about you. You can be frighteningly cunning, my friend. Cunning and quiet and... _surreptitious_. I once always thought to myself, 'Oh, Tevos is so honest, so gentle and harmless and always willing good unto everything and everyone'. But you've got quite a dark side sometimes. Are you aware of it, Tevos? I say this with amusement, please don't misinterpret. In complete honesty, I get rather excited to see you, let's say, 'navigating the system in unorthodox manners'."

Before they went their separate ways, Tevos responded to Irissa's observation with a period of silence followed by a small, partially forced but convincing smile.

* * *

:::

* * *

Liselle nearly flinched at the Patriarch's remark. She knew he only meant to ridicule her by bringing to attention the high likelihood of her very recently being dependent on a guardian—her mother—and was not actually aware of who her mother was, but it still induced a tiny quake of fear in her chest. She exchanged a quick glance with Malak, both refraining from holstering her guns until they looked over at Rasma to seek her behest. She nodded at them, executing a tacit lowering gesture with one hand to put them at ease. They did as she instructed, but did not indulge in the luxury of sitting down as the Patriarch had bade them to. Instead, Malak decided to lean against one of the couch's arms while Liselle stayed put and at attention.

Beneath the haze of red and the muffled din of Afterlife's soundtrack, Rasma stood resolutely as the Patriarch began coolly pacing about on the other side of the low glass table separating the two. Liselle was still taken aback at his stature; huge limbs despite their proportionate shortness as well as the bulk of his physiology, frighteningly wide and sturdy, and reminiscent of a volcano's stereotypical countenance.

"So Aria's going into the Tuhi District later today, isn't she?" Patriarch remarked at length, eyes directed at one wall as if he found some minor detail about the mounted lights extraordinarily interesting. When he looked back at Rasma, he found latent disapproval in her cold green eyes. "It's no secret, so don't leer at me so accusingly, turian. If it was a secret Aria would never have let it leak!" He waved a hand for emphasis. "No… she _wants_ people to know. It makes things easier for her."

"How would it?" Rasma asked, canting her head a few degrees in curiosity. Something about her demeanor led Liselle to believe that she already knew the answer to her own question, and was only inquiring to hear what the Patriarch knew.

The krogan gave an amused shrug. "How would _you_ like to start hearing rumors of war coming to your neighborhood—no, worse, that a war waged by Aria T'Loak is headed your way? Most people would flee, since most people are cowards. Sometimes you'll see entire factions fleeing; after all, staying put wouldn't do them any good. They _know_ they're going to lose the district. At this point it's only a question of how many have the quad to stay, fight, and die. That's who Aria has to deal with. There's always a good chance that this will end up being another afternoon stroll for her like it was in the Kenzo District, however…"

"What _about_ all that?" the turian pressed him. "What relevance does that have to what's going on?"

"It has all the relevance in the world," he said with a ghost of a sly grin, teeth becoming visible for a brief moment. "Where do you think those fleeing people go, hmm? Do they evaporate, disappear? Do they leave Omega?" His smile resurfaced at the absurdity. "No. Most can't afford to leave. So they migrate. But you see, the people who flee tend to only be those who are capable of mobility, meaning that many civilians are excluded. Many can't just jump up and leave their homes behind to leave Omega or even just the district they live in. Often, homes and possessions are all what many have, especially in more impoverished areas. So some have to stay."

Liselle closely watched Patriarch as he continued to leisurely pace around—a habit Aria had as well. Perhaps that behavior was the result of a predatory disposition; an inherent instinct to stalk and survey, something so deeply ingrained in their genes and personalities that not even the humiliation of defeat and subservience could completely uproot the inveterate practice.

Patriarch continued. "They stay, waiting for Aria's forces to come storming down the streets to occupy them, and they have to like it. It's become a process. A steady wave over all the districts in Aria's hungry sight, all suitable regions for her expanding empire." He lifted his arms again to trenchantly illustrate. "She wants Omega all to herself; every last corner. But you see... this has never happened before._ Never_ has one single syndicate occupied Omega's entirety, and Aria is determined to command the first! She regularly makes that quite clear. And whenever she has a problem—rival organizations, internal betrayals, information wars—she gets tight and rigid, starts cracking skulls and getting people to squeal, and when that's taken care of she goes out again and annexes more territory, killing more enemies, filling her head with mantras of _more power, more power_; thinking that if she expands her horizons, hires more mercenaries, and keeps all the loyal folk well-paid and well-fed, they'll love her forever. They'll never leave her, because there's nothing better out there than being employed by Aria T'Loak, right? That's all that matters…"

His back faced them now, but his arms came up yet again. "Her syndicate—_only_—matters! Her ability to wage war, the prosperity of business, her horde of political contacts, the complexity and efficiency of her information networks… That's it, isn't it? The only thing that matters in the end? Well, isn't it?" Patriarch turned around.

None of them said anything in response to his rhetorical question, humoring him by allowing the abeyance of speech to last for as long as he originally designed. During that brief period, a flurry of thoughts entered Liselle's head. The majority revolved around visions of the 'empire' Patriarch was referring to; the concept of Omega comprising many independent districts eternally engulfed in feudal warfare, only now being annexed under one power, one monarch, one sovereign, forcefully unifying syndicate. But was it not the inexorable course of change? That was what Aria always stated when asked; when she had eradicated an enemy and sent her legions marching into the captured district, only to be challenged by a stray question regarding the purpose or motivation for her bloody conquest and why it was necessary, to which she would kindly, quietly, yet coldly reply with a gun's muzzle pressed to their temple: _That's the course of change_.

Omega craved and demanded powerful leaders. Was Aria not the quintessential fulfillment of that demand?

Before Liselle could think any longer, the Patriarch had resumed.

"Ah, there's something missing, isn't there?" the krogan said, grinning anew. "What about those people I was talking about before? Where do they fit in all this? Does Aria have anything for them? Why yes—protection, business partnerships, jobs… if they have the money or skills. It's as it should be." He strode away a few paces and paused. "The natural order of things... The strong and the weak, the herds that feed the predators… Until you make them live together under one roof. What I've been hearing from my pool of contacts all points to the same end."

He briefly met Liselle's gaze. She grew a bit rigid under his close scrutiny, watching his knife-like irises move over her face as the faintest suspicious expression appeared on his weathered features. It was recognition in its infancy, threatening to burst into full realization if she so much as carelessly _breathed_ in a manner remotely familiar to him. She froze entirely.

"One empire," he slowly grumbled, still carefully leering at Liselle. "No... no longer an empire. A single state. _Aria's Omega,_ or so she dreams of it. But the problem with that dream is that once a regime gets too big, it starts collapsing. A united Omega is the _end_ of Omega. It doesn't want unity, and whenever any single regime becomes too bloated, it cracks and erupts and war experiences another rebirth. Spectacular battles. _Absolute chaos_." The tone of his deep voice suggested that he found a large degree of excitement at the very idea. "When Omega is only composed of many factions, everything runs smoothly without too many seismic or surprising events, because if you don't like the syndicate in your area, you can emigrate somewhere else, to another district. But on a united Omega, there's nowhere else to go. _Everyone's_ part of the empire now, and you have to like it. And what happens to the people who don't like it? The ones who used to just pack up and move a district over when things got bad for them?" At last he freed Liselle from examination, instead looking at all of their waiting faces in turn.

"They rise up," he said. "They start causing a storm and they fight. As it should be, like I said before. They fight and others join them for the sheer glory of rebellion alone. Omega wants war. Omega wants blood,_ eternal_ blood. And as the most powerful person on this station, Aria must satiate that hunger or be consumed herself. She can't have it both ways. If she wants to stay where she is—if she wants to keep running things like she does right now—she's going to have to retire that fantasy of hers, the one about owning every bit of this place. Unless she wants to start conducting ritual sacrifices." He let out a short laugh. "Imagine that. False wars. Manipulating and pitting her own districts against each other like massive fighting pits... Maybe this idea of hers isn't so bad after all!" The Patriarch laughed again.

"Have you told Aria about your... strategic prediction?" Rasma asked him.

"Yes, yes, I've told Aria all this, of course." He dismissively waved a hand at her. "It's my _humble obligation_ to do so. But what do I know? I'm just an old man who sits around all day drinking her liquor and telling stories to anyone who'll listen about my long past glory days. Living in the past; obsolete and weaker than she is. Why would she subject herself to the same fatalistic beliefs I have? Why allow the opinion of the broken shell of a warlord to prohibit her from reaching her goals?"

Rasma paused. "So what you're saying is that civilians have been the ones causing Aria the most trouble? Not other factions or powerful individuals? Is that what you've heard from everyone who's talked about it?"

He made a low grumbling sound in negation, gathering his thoughts into a reply. "...Well of course you've got your array of 'anti-Aria' people. Some skulking around, some making a scene. Spreading propaganda. There's one man, a big name with big money. Drialus Lorhan. Aria keeps her eyes on him at all times, especially lately. Doesn't kill him though. No, no, she won't touch the damn turian. That would make him a martyr. And becoming a martyr would have a larger effect on Omega than all the propaganda in the world..." He eyed them with great purpose. "Aria keeps her 'influential' enemies alive to prevent that from happening, and to spy on them. This fact isn't precisely well-known... but freelancing bounty hunters in Aria's districts know that if she hasn't made any effort to kill him, neither should anyone else. They have a fair understanding of who's who. Who's on and off the market in their line of business. Anyway, since Aria's spying on Lorhan and his pals, she probably would've heard something about an opposing organization by now. No... these people attacking her aren't big guns. If you want to find them, sweep the streets..."

* * *

:::

* * *

The air hung low, warm, and heavily over the yard. A truck was being loaded with containers packed to capacity with weapons, medical supplies, and other victuals necessary to support a lengthy spell of bloodshed in the Tuhi District, scheduled to begin just a few hours from that exact moment. Hirelings were busying about; tallying cargo, radioing the designated recipients of the shipment, and preparing the four cars assigned to escort the truck in a well-defended caravan. Mercenaries were hopping into these cars, closing the doors and checking if all darkly-tinted windows retracted properly into hollow slots in the doors—as was the expectation after spending a long afternoon modifying the cars in a way which allowed gunmen to defend their fleet without having to open the doors entirely. The assessment went well. All proponents of the swift and discreet operation were running efficiently beneath the eyes of two superior officers, which came as no surprise. Their scrutiny loomed over the bustling area, settling over their bodies like a thick shadow; inspiring haste, precision, and duty if only by pressure.

The pair loitered away from the scene, far enough to not be interrupted by their business, but close enough to practice their unyielding surveillance. The salarian officer shifted his weight from one foot to another. His nerves had never before compromised his composure, not even on the eve of battle, but something about this skirmish was different. He couldn't put a finger on what it was, but some vague aspect about the Tuhi District was auspicious. It didn't make much sense, as it was a good a time as any to finally swoop in and seize that district from the frantically grasping claws of the smaller, weaker factions desperately battling for control. He shouldn't have been very concerned. It was irrational to be overly concerned. After all, Aria's syndicate had been accumulating massive amounts of territory just over the few past months. With every conquered district they seemed to gain momentum, decreasing the difficulty of annexing their following targets and lighting their blood with fires of eagerness, transforming them into beasts of battle hungering for the next siege.

So what could have been breeding uneasiness within his gut? Was there a superstitious contaminant drifting about his head, such as the common fable of terrible trouble inevitably following a period of prosperity? Or was it just borne from a prolonged span of time in Aria T'Loak's unsettling presence?

She was standing against a private cab—a vessel of dark glossy red—that she had called to ferry her back to Afterlife when she was done monitoring the preparations. There was a cigarette between her fingers, and her eyes were as haunting and fearsome as the solemn eve of war they saw. And she was the only one in the area not holding a flawlessly erect posture; instead she was complacent and leisurely, as if she were on a permanent stroll through her tumultuous life, or as if managing yet another war campaign was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. It was her homeostasis, as natural as the blood in her veins. She inhaled, breathed war—the ashes and fire of battle, like the smoke being drawn past her lips and soon expelled into languid trails of pale gray.

"I want reports from both you and Lieutenant Dissia," she said to him. "Tell me everything—casualties, advances, estimates of enemy losses, our losses, the weapons they're using. Just keep me sufficiently updated on regular intervals. Every few hours at the least."

He gave a confirming nod before Aria glanced away to observe the last containers being secured onto the truck.

She remained pensive for a moment, her face darkened by an anticipatory, crooked angling of her lips. "It should be easy for all of you. A clean run. At this point, we're just pushing out the rival gangs and exterminating anyone stupid enough to hold their ground. They'll be retreating into other territories where they'll soon start fighting over the limited space, and we'll be waiting to pick up the pieces after they've exhausted their own numbers." She returned her eyes to the officer as the perpetually-roasting hues of light once again cradled the outline of her head; jaw and cheek and crest. "Sounds a bit a like scavenging, some might say. I see it as being… _opportunistic_. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes," he dutifully said, finding no other appropriate way to answer. "Is that what we can expect happening over the next few weeks—making a process out of that strategy?"

"You should expect it, yes. But of course, it's liable to change at my discretion." Aria pulled away from the skycar, straightening out her back before holding out her cigarette for the officer to take. He received it with some confusion, peering down at the still-burning item and examined a few letters stamped onto the quality paper. When he looked up again, Aria was tapping her hand onto the skycar's door, informing the pilot of her desire to leave. The doors promptly issued a click and smooth hiss as they opened.

"Let me know when you rendezvous with Dissia," she said to the salarian while boarding the vehicle. "Don't disappoint me." Without waiting for his explicit confirmation, the doors shut again and the skycar began to steadily rise from the marked landing area.

"Afterlife," she told the pilot, one of her asari guards, from the back row of seats. Without delay a course was set and they soon merged into the busy traffic after leaving the secluded area through an avenue between two colossal towers. While traveling through the vast, cavernous expanse destined for the eventual colonization of the wealthy and their ever-expanding jungles of buildings—all to be erected with Aria's permission and blessing, of course—she transferred her attention from the view beyond the window to her omni-tool. She began reading various files.

Things were going quite smoothly at the moment. Slowly, but smoothly. A near-infallible algorithm had been devised to aid her ambitions of conquering mass amounts of territory in a series of temporally close campaigns, and its effectiveness was already yielding tremendous results. She was leading a wave of unstoppable change, a relentless charge forward into districts whose notion of ownership she had quietly coveted for years but abstained from acting rashly on instinctual greed and desire. She had patiently abided for this era, this glorious window of time when a surge of unnatural, prolonged violence shook her rivals into vulnerability and internal discord.

Other factions were crumbling at her feet, going extinct, and Omega was making way for the dominant organism whose bulk and power inhabited more and more space as it grew after consuming failing, weaker prey like some magnificent invention tasked with cleansing the station of the ill-adapted and making way for the superior few. Her empire was opening its maw wide, swallowing enemies whole and sending them scurrying away at a single glance of its rearing head and gleaming teeth; relegating, herding the survivors into doomed enclaves soon to be occupied and devoured as well. What a grim business her expansion was, Aria acknowledged—and oh, how it made her hunger like her empire-beast itself…

Her long-standing goal of being Omega's first unifying ruler, a role once restricted to absurd fantasy, was gradually materializing before her. And she grasped for it, continually throwing away hordes of foes who would try impeding her reach with the ever-present threat of sudden death, which had recently nearly taken her. But it hadn't. Like always, as Aria willed, she had successfully thrashed free of another impending demise and had emerged only more indomitable by acquiring experience extracted from her minor mistake. And after issuing a vow to never repeat the same mistake again, yet another mode of silencing Aria T'Loak was made unavailable to all her enemies.

The series of setbacks plaguing her syndicate were only temporary, as it was only natural to encounter resistance during periods of great activity. It would all be dealt with soon, and her realm would expand again.

Aria had received Rasma Visiom's report earlier that day, and as she predicted, her team failed to obtain useful information from the Patriarch; not anything that wasn't already known. The old fool had outlived his usefulness as an advisor, now condemned in her mind to a titular, empty position. These days he only spewed nonsense, perhaps only to annoy Aria by claiming that her ambitions were impossible to reach. The problem lied in perspective.

Aria was not Patriarch. She was not bound by the same limitations he was; she was smarter, more organized, and more powerful than he had ever been. How could that krogan possibly claim to understand Omega better than she did, when he had failed in the end as its ruler? He was just a head on a pike, a warning to her enemies, except twice as effective as a literal, inanimate, decapitated head—for he could still talk. He could tell his tale of failure and defeat. And that was much, much sadder. A great warlord cut down and usurped in his prime after a glorious battle was honorable and memorable, but a man left to wither and decay into a forgotten, pathetic shadow whose eventual death would only lead him into further obscurity was more terrifying than death itself.

Despite the lack of progress for that specific team, others were doing well. There was much ground to cover after being presented with many different leads, and Aria would have to be diligent in deciding which ones to prioritize and pursue. Only one issue was currently troubling her a mentionable amount; the disappearance of Anikot. It was a very peculiar case. There were no transactions made from any of his accounts, and his communications (which they were tapping) were utterly silent. The only remaining explanations were that he had smuggled himself aboard a ship and escaped Omega unbeknownst to Omega Control, or that he was dead. Both seemed equally probable, but Aria would rather have him alive and at large than dead. A live Anikot was extraordinarily valuable solely for the information in his head, and Aria had never crossed a single individual who could successfully hide something she wanted from them. Whether held at gunpoint, battered until bloody and broken, after having the lives of family or loved ones put at stake, or even through measures more extreme than those, Aria would infallibly have her information by the end of the day.

Aside from affairs on Omega, Aria's relationship with a certain foreign ally, the Citadel—the _Council;_ no, _Councilor Tevos_—was... decidedly healthy. The nature of the relationship mattered very little to Aria, so long as it was performing in her favor, which it was. Tevos' _little slip_ the previous night reinforced Aria's suspicion that the asari councilor still had certain vestiges of attachment or predilection for Aria, which was extremely useful to know. Maybe, with a bit of extra effort and prodding, she could finally persuade Tevos into _helping_ her with a few select favors... But Aria almost rolled her eyes at the thought, recalling that_ fifty years_ spent trying to bend the councilor to her will had been fruitless, and the only difference between then and the present was that Tevos had stated what she was previously concealing. Aria frowned, realizing that she may not gain much at all from the incident last night.

But if she were to gain nothing else from it, Aria had at least found great amusement in Tevos' words, even to the point of casually entertaining the idea of one day somehow arranging for them to drink while in each other's company. If alcohol opened the councilor up from her usual non-emotive and obstinate behavioral vise, perhaps _more_ amusement and secrets were just waiting for Aria to reap.

_And to get rid of some of your damned, constant affectation_, Aria thought with some annoyance. _You can't honestly expect me to believe that you naturally speak and write that way..._

Aria's finger paused over a lit block of words projected from her omni-tool when she heard the subtle chime of the skycar's autopilot feature being switched on. Her body froze at that anomaly in order to detect the faintest of sounds and movements in her immediate environment, which arrived in the form of the pilot shifting in her seat and looking over the upholstery-clad shoulder while orienting herself in Aria's direction. Something was raised. Then, a faint click, with utter stillness following.

In the brooding darkness of the skycar, Aria tilted her head a few degrees before feigning a lack of attention, moving her fingers over the omni-tool's interface again without detectably expressing a single care in the world. While neglecting to look up at the pilot and with a cold, almost mechanically unconcerned tone in her speech, she asked her, "Are you sure you want to do that?"

Silence reigned over the vehicle's interior, only broken by the steady hum of the engine. Light flashed over their bodies from outside sources, morphing Aria's concentrating expression into dire variants, all defined by thick black shadows that only accentuated what terrible danger lied in wait beneath her composure. A gun pointed at her head had only angered her beyond all mercy, and it was only fitting for the pilot to be allowed a spare moment to reflect on her life and every mistake leading up to this single moronic point. Aria wanted the traitor to feel emptied by terror, to feel her own death before it even arrived. She would feel it through Aria's apathy, her refusal to acknowledge any sort of danger, thus rendering the pilot's essential suicide as pointless and inconsequential. A waste. The ultimate price for naught.

It was a suiting last string of thoughts for a traitor, Aria believed.

Aria gave an anticipatory jerk of her head the very instant she detected a minor quivering in the pilot's wrist, a mere shifting of tendons, and was removed from the path of a bullet tearing right through the seat, centimeters from her cheek, and burying itself deep within the skycar's body. Before another shot could be fired, Aria had ripped the gun out of her assailant's hand and was lunging forward, viciously seizing the guard's head in her hands and giving it a swift, thorough, and forceful twist with the aid of her biotics phantasmally flickering along her fists. A loud crack accompanied the snapping of the asari's neck. When Aria released her, she immediately went limp and slumped over.

Aria heaved the traitor back into the passenger's seat, dumping the body unceremoniously and haphazardly out of the way before stepping through the alley between the two front seats to slide into the pilot's former position. The skycar's holographically projected interface glowed before her, awaiting her input. She quickly assessed the autopilot setting, discerning the set course and what corrections needed to be made, if any, to deliver her to her intended destination, but after analyzing the currently set course, her facial features reflexively steeled. The skycar was programmed to arrive at a massive business tower under Aria's protection, but there was no highlighted parking zone for the skycar's computer to reserve by broadcasting a signal to other traveling vehicles heading for the same location. Rather, the bright orange map on the dash, marked with an overlaying green line that displayed their planned course via the winding, entangled traffic ways, abruptly ended in a morbid red where it ran straight through a lot labeled with the name and address of the business tower. Aria reached over to access the skycar's autopilot settings, checking if the automatic proximity aversion was perhaps malfunctioning; it was, in theory, almost impossible to collide with another object with the autopilot enabled. The computer in the vehicle had thousands of safety programs designed to evade oncoming obstacles by rerouting course or rapidly maneuvering to dodge other problematic pilots. Aria's mercenaries rarely used the autopilot feature only because it was not usually in their interests to… _conventionally_ navigate Omega; instead preferring to take uncharted shortcuts or hastily weave in and out of traffic, a strategy the autopilot was generally not capable of performing.

To her chagrin, Aria found the safety features not malfunctioning, but manually disabled altogether. When she tried to override, a menacing red error flickered up from the interface, requesting a specific encryption key to alter any settings, route included. Her brow was dangerously slanted into a fierce glare, shadows pooling in the enraged crease as she turned her eyes to the previous pilot. The asari was lying half on the floor, half on the seat with a pair of blank eyes endlessly staring upward at the dark ceiling of the skycar, shimmering flickers of radiant light from the control panel and the cities leaking in from the windows gliding across her lax features and swimming around in soulless irises.

Aria reached over to grab her by the front of a black-painted chest plate, hypothesizing that the key was encoded in the traitor's ID. If she pressed her still-warm hand to the panel, there was a considerable chance it would grant her access. As she began hauling her weight up, however, Aria noticed yet another pressing issue—a red blinking light embedded in the chest armor, likely wired to her hardsuit's internal computer, was flashing and fading with the pace of an average heart rate, but with every successful blink, the pace steadily accelerated.

She looked away, turning her pale eyes to the window in bitter annoyance with a muttered, "Shit."

Her averted gaze yielded the sight of a long strip of street bordering the exterior of a spire, serving as a bridge between it and another neighboring one, and populated exiguously. It had potential as a landing strip, or in Aria's case of being rather pressed for time, somewhere to land after leaping from the vehicle. But at these speeds, any escape attempt made would end in complete annihilation as nothing more than a bloody, pulpy streak smeared along the metal pathway.

Aria reflexively lifted her arms on pure survival instinct, reaching out to press the palms of her hands against the frame of the skycar, and cloaked the entire vessel in a stasis field which acted as an improvised emergency brake. She strained to hold it while fighting the powerful, reliable engine desperately trying to maintain its high speeds. With a harsh, drawn-out utterance of a vulgarity forming on her lips, the vehicle gradually began decreasing in momentum. Around her, as seen through the tinted windows, other skycars were zipping past in blurs of light and color, many forced to swiftly evade the obstacle Aria had created in that lane of space she occupied. She tried reorienting the skycar a few degrees in the direction of the street to increase her odds of a successful escape.

When the vehicle had decelerated to survivable speeds, an eerie, rippling hum reverberated around the interior as she collapsed the stasis field inward, wavering in violet illumination as it was repurposed into a powerful barrier. The veneer of energy coated every inch of Aria's body as she braced one hand against the skycar's curving inner frame to her side and the other against the ceiling. With the gained leverage and the combination of strength and biotics, she delivered a brutal kick to the window, and her heel smashed a sizable aperture through the thick surface. She kicked at it again, adding to the web-like cracks splayed out from the center of impact, and with a final blow the entire window popped out of place, quickly breaking into chunks of razor-sharp panes that were swept away as they began to fall.

Aria perched herself in the opening, now standing—balancing—on the helm of the vehicle, exposed to the uncanny vista of Omega's malicious cities lit by ceaseless activity; a canyon lined with entreating, radiant advertisements crying out for the potential consumer's attention. As momentum-generated winds whipped her white jacket about, Aria faced the street, positioning her legs and feet in preparation, but there still lied an impressive gap between her and safety, one impossible to traverse with physical strength alone. In a final, resourceful decision, Aria extended one arm to her side opposite from the street, and let a violent flare burst into existence. The crackling, resounding explosion of biotics engulfed one side of the skycar, forcing it to falter and veer in direction of the street, closing the gorge after the energy tore at its body, bending and shredding metal with sharp, splitting bangs and pops.

Once she was close enough, Aria leapt from the vehicle, but just before she landed, a second explosion rang out, this one sending a wave of scorching heat through the air, nearly brushing the back of her neck as she crumpled down in a failed attempt to land gracefully. Inertia stole all stable purchase from beneath her feet and sent her rolling and skidding along the street as if she were being carried down the fierce currents of an exuberant river, all occurring under a savage, molten deluge of debris; brimstone. An entire section of the metal fencing erected as the street's guardrail was being ripped up by the nose of the skycar, fragmenting into high-velocity shrapnel that sang in haunting, agonized timbres as it was struck and sent sailing forward. Fire and metal warped by force and heat were screaming by overhead. Deafening crashes of metal smashing down like burning meteorites surrounded her on all sides, and her visual comprehension of the hellish scene was frantic and disorganized at best—all that registered were flashes of twisted, mangled pieces of the red skycar striking the street with piercing metallic screeches and scrapes, many unpredictably ricocheting upward again like wildly-spinning blades.

Aria at last slid to a stop with her barely-intact barrier weakly flickering to death. Just as she began to raise her head, a deep shadow settled over her face, ominously announcing the approach of a massive object. It was a large, unidentifiable portion of the skycar, and it was collecting innumerable dents as it bounced along the street, hurtling toward her. With her biotics completely exhausted for at least the next few minutes, Aria dropped her head back down, bracing herself against the street as the wreckage thundered closer and closer. The metal mass struck down in front of her with a harsh boom, entered the air once more, rolled right over her prone position, and continued on its loud, reckless course.

Yet again she raised her head while supporting her weight on her forearms, lifting herself up and becoming aware of small scratches and soon-to-be bruises in various places on her anatomy. Other than those acquired wounds, she was perfectly unharmed. After rising to her feet, Aria assessed her situation. The few people traveling through the area had fled or were in the process of fleeing; one was on the ground, likely struck by a stray piece of the skycar's body, and some were tentatively peering out of the cover they had taken to see if the sudden disaster had quelled. They were staring at her, fearfully marveling at Omega's lone queen rising unscathed amid a field of still-burning ruins after inexplicably falling from the sky in a hail of fire and death. She was a frightening apparition, everywhere and nowhere at once, with absolutely no traces of terror in her eyes or posture whatsoever—only anger and irritation, like the maliciously smoldering embers and residual flames littering the street, gently exhaling plumes of fine ash into the air.

After surveying the area, Aria located an organic mass; the disfigured, blackened remains of the dead asari lying near the wide breach in the metal guardrail where she had presumably landed after being thrown from the skycar. What was left of her was hardly recognizable, and Aria had only detected her by the familiar sight of splintered armor ripped open by the blast, now in a shape resembling an arrangement outward-jutting, curling knives. The corpse warranted an investigation, prompting Aria to approach.

To her great bewilderment after moving a few paces, the body stirred. She initially believed she had imagined the movement, but as she watched closely while drawing nearer, the movements persisted. It was no hallucination. The corpse was _moving_, reaching out with its single intact arm and beginning to slowly drag itself along the street toward Aria, who stopped in her tracks to observe the unnerving phenomenon with wide, perplexed blue eyes. But before long, it stopped just a few meters away, lying still once more as nothing but a heap of burnt flesh and seared armor.

Recollections of Olat Dar'nerah filled her head at once. But this time… she had seen it for herself. Not through a recording, not through the witness testimony, but through her very own eyes, her very own conscious experience. And like before, she was much less disturbed as she was confounded. After suspiciously traveling over the rest of the distance separating her from the corpse, Aria crouched and rolled the dead asari onto her back.

There was little face to speak of. Most had all been burned or ripped away, and only a single eye had been spared total obliteration. It was dull and hazy with death, a generally reliable indicator that the woman had been dead for at least a few hours. But that didn't fit with the circumstance; she had been alive just a few minutes previously, first piloting her transportation then drawing a gun and firing at Aria's head. Did the heat play a part in spoiling her body? That was certainly a reasonable explanation.

_But how did you get in that fucking car?_ she wondered._  
_

Aria reached out with two fingers, briefly tapping them against the damaged armor to test the surface's temperature. Her fingertips captured a brief, sharp pang of heat. To protect her hands from burns, Aria used her recuperated biotics to help her peel off portions of armor, intending to examine the state of the body hidden beneath in hopes to discover what had enabled it to animate itself in spite of death.

_If she hadn't pulled that gun on me,_ she agitatedly thought, _she might have actually done some damage. If this was purely a suicide run, she would've kept her head low and sent us both up in flames without a word. It looks like the explosive was wired to her vital signs, only activated in the event of death… And judging by the damage, it's similar to what was used to take Pasora out. The car was already going down, but this made it a lot more violent... And she was acting with the chance of survival in mind, resorting to detonation only if she failed—and if she wanted to survive, or if her superiors promoted her survival, something about her life was worth trying to preserve or destroy. But, more important than killing me…?_

Aria was almost insulted.

During her search, she migrated to the arm and pried off a shoulder guard only to find that the piece was composed of two parts—an abnormality among most manufacturers. Deciding the detail was important enough to secure her attention, Aria separated the two parts in her hands and was left with a thin plate in one, and in the other, a scratched and scuffed shoulder cap. It was painted with immaculate white over a soothing blue background, and the symbol depicted was six vertical segments arranged into a shallow valley, creating a point at its minimum with wings symmetrically rising from it on either ends; and around the base of the insignia was a thin halo, encircling the inverted peak.

Aria rose from her crouch, turning over the piece in her hands as rage began to simmer throughout her body.

This woman, whoever she had been, was a Spectre. Or at the very least, there was some motive for wearing Spectre armor. So how had she obtained it, if she were not one? Spectres were not careless, nor were they easy to track and kill by hunters of any breed. Well, unless they were _Aria T'Loak_, of course, as she generally had a very good idea about how many Spectres were on or near Omega at any given moment, and always had people monitoring their activities throughout their time in the Terminus Systems. Aria only rarely intercepted them out of 'courtesy' for Councilor Tevos, so long as the Spectres stayed out of her way. And for the most part, they did. They stayed far away from Aria, likely at the advisement of their wise employers.

But this… what was _this?_ As she gripped the emblem in her hand, Aria began to involuntarily bristle. Was this a legitimate Spectre? If it was… she had been fooled and betrayed by yet another valuable ally, and this time it was her most potent link to the Citadel and the Council races. A political leader with massive influence over those immense territories, and one who Aria had_ trusted_ with severely sensitive information that could easily contribute to her downfall if used against her.

_Do I have to make you my enemy?_ she sent her thoughts in Councilor Tevos' general direction. _Or is someone else trying to make you my enemy, like what we considered a few days ago? A pressing question…_

"Neora!"

Aria turned in the direction of the shout, still holding the Spectre insignia in one hand where she stood over the asari's body and among the scattered spouts of fire dotting the street. Her eyes found the shape of a salarian emerging from cover, pushing past two other bystanders utilizing a parked skycar as protection. He had his omni-tool out, running a tracking program. He promptly closed the windows, and the moment he drew a gun and pointed it in Aria's direction, she turned to face him, unamused by the bold approach.

"What the hell did you do to her!?" he demanded, his large eyes wider than ever before, reflecting his swirling rage and horror at the sight of the blackened, mutilated form at Aria's feet. "Do you have any idea what you've done; what you'll be answering to for murdering her!? You _bitch!_ You're going to throw us into a damned war at this rate!"

She observed him with great displeasure, looking over his appearance; basic armor with little if any striking qualities, but the firearm in his hands was, curiously, of very high quality. With swift realization permeating throughout her head regarding his identity and affiliations, and without losing an ounce of her standard intimidation, Aria said to him, "You really don't want to be the second person to point a gun at me today."

Having another Spectre die that day was not in her agenda; giving him the opportunity to stand down before delivering the man to a similar fate as his fellow operative might reward Aria with precious information about what had happened, so instead of instinctively reacting to the drawn gun by tearing its owner to pieces, she remained at peace. Aria turned over the shoulder cap in her hands a few times, examining the stately symbol, then held it in the salarian's direction. "You're one of these, aren't you?" she knowingly asked him. "To my knowledge, a few of the Council's Spectres have been spying on Omega. It was nothing I particularly cared about. Your superiors were smart enough to keep you away from my organization and intelligence networks, so there was little animosity. But tell me this… Why does a Spectre suddenly think it's a good idea to try to kill me? And more importantly, if someone gave her that order, who?"

The Spectre watched her intensely, frozen in place with the gun still pointed at Aria. "No, I don't believe a word of that. We were _specifically forbidden_ from getting anywhere near you. Neora had no orders, no motive, none _whatsoever_ to attack you…!"

"So you have access to her orders?" she inquired, leering fiercely at him to demand and extract a truthful answer. "You know _everything_ her superiors told her?"

"I…" He lowered his gun, eyes flitting around with doubt and fear of the unthinkable.

"This is unacceptable," Aria curtly concluded while tossing the emblem at him to catch. She turned away, contemptuously leering at a particularly large portion of the burning skycar lying on the street amid the other debris. "I don't think your superiors were stupid enough to order an attack on me, but if they knew this _Neora_ was rogue, on Omega with violent intentions while carrying Citadel-funded weapons and resources, and if they deliberately neglected to do anything about it... We're going to have a bit of a problem." She turned back toward the somber Spectre, intending to instruct him to follow her back to Afterlife where they would hold conference with the Council to _civilly_ address the issue, but as she did, her eyes immediately darted elsewhere.

His gaze followed hers, and the two were left to witness the last sight of Neora's boot sliding and vanishing over the side of the street, falling through the destroyed portion of its railing. They moved simultaneously, rushing over to the edge in horror and surprise. Below their feet, the dark outline of the asari's body was lost in the hazy chasm of shadows, passing through the occasional beam of light emanating from lower, industrious structures. She was an illusory ghost fleeting into obscurity—becoming nothing more to their eyes than a single fleck of ash in Omega's sooty depths.

While Aria uttered an acrid curse at losing both the body and the opportunity to properly examine it, the Spectre was stunned and aghast with disbelief. She could see the gleaming confusion in his eyes, the disturbed pallor beneath their sockets, and the bewitched anger boiling in his blood. It was an understandable reaction to the scene, Aria judged. After all, this was the stuff of nightmares, of urban legend and wild fantasy, things his Spectre training had never prepared him to confront. The reanimated dead was nothing but a theme of popular cinema, a cliché in entertainment. Neither of them wanted to use the obvious colloquialism in mind to give a name to the vanished corpse, the grotesque source of their distress and an icon representing all the horrors and troubles which had been violently manifesting before them as of late. They would rather let it stay eerily nameless than assigning it the moniker of a _joke_.

"What's happening...?" the salarian quietly asked aloud, dire and severe as he genuinely implored Aria for a legitimate answer.

She turned away from the abyss to address the question, having no mercy reserved for him in her answer, "Something was done to your friend... and I highly doubt it was something pleasant or posthumous."


	9. A Proposition

**A/N: **Sorry for the delay, I've had to do a lot of studying for exams. But as usual, a huge thanks to the reviewers for your encouraging words.

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[ **Chapter 9: **A Proposition ]

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**DAILY SCHOLAR — "Governance on Omega"**

_[An excerpt from an essay on Terminus Space 'law' and the structure of society, centering on the notorious space station Omega, written by Dranta Lorkess]_

A complete lack of central, unifying government on Omega has been a long-accepted perception of the system which traditionally exists in that territory of the galaxy. There are no official taxes [however this is liable to change at the discretion of the ruling faction in an area], no justice system [save for the actions victims of crimes take on their own], and no universal definition of Omegan 'citizenship' [or even confirmation of its existence, for that matter]. The sheer dearth of institutional order suspends Omega in what is widely regarded as perpetual war as territories are constantly divided, captured, lost, damaged, or bought between the factions scrambling for power. The only role resembling leadership or ownership of the station prevails in _de facto_ claims issued by the most powerful and influential warlords. But at what point can a warlord claim de facto ownership of Omega and expect his or her claim to be acknowledged by the countless other entities battling over municipalities and districts? Throughout the station's history, a pattern arises which all previous de facto leaders have adhered to; a distinct list of prerequisites, or a threshold of presence which all aspiring leaders must meet or surpass in order to be recognized by the denizens of Omega:

Control over Omega Command, patrols monitoring the Sahrabarik relays and traffic, the financial health to maintain Omega's life support, environmental, and power systems, and the occupation of the majority of territory on Omega.

As with all her predecessors, the current self-proclaimed ruler of Omega Aria T'Loak has met these prerequisites and has been in power for approximately one century since she laid siege to the previous dominating syndicate. Her possessed 'majority of territory' in recent months, however, has been rapidly increasing in a way that suggests Aria T'Loak may be planning on conquering the station in its entirety—a feat never before achieved in recorded history. As word of the possibility steadily percolates throughout Terminus Space and even into Citadel Council-controlled areas, economists, sociologists, and political scientists around the galaxy are watching with bated breath—some in unnerved apprehension—but most in fascination, of what would become of Omega's tumultuous structure if a single power ever managed to unite it. Would government evolve from the primordial havoc? Would this feudal, undefinable phenomenon of a society grow into a full-fledged oligarchy, or perhaps a more focused monarchy-resembling [provided that the current leadership has heirs or otherwise chosen successors] state?

At the moment, Aria T'Loak enforces no tariffs or other taxes. Essentials such as power, water, and mercenary protection are purchased by the individual, but basic life support systems throughout her districts are solely funded and maintained by her organization. Diplomatic and ambassadorial duties are reserved for T'Loak alone [which she may arbitrarily extend to others or appoint them to positions capable of functioning in that manner], who is acknowledged by foreign governments as representational of Omega despite the nature of her rise to power, as it has become common for most peoples to accept the de facto ruler of Omega as the sole conduit through which rudimentary relations or treaties may be established. Local gangs are permitted to independently continue their activities in T'Loak's territory so long as they sign and uphold terms of contractual treaties.

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:::

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Liselle made another dejected return to the apartment that afternoon following her team's dispersal. After the Patriarch had finished rambling on about what he thought of the situation and the possible identities of the enemy stalking Aria and her syndicate, he had gone on to retell how he had managed Omega during the days when he held power. By the end of the two hours spent in that small private lounge, the team was exhausted from listening to histrionic accounts of previous centuries, and were paradoxically eager to leave when their conversation was over as well as disappointed from not obtaining a definitive, reliable lead from the Patriarch.

Once in the apartment, Liselle sat down and talked with Iaera, who attempted to lighten Liselle's disdainful mood by inquiring about her team. Unfortunately, most traits Liselle had observed about them were negative ones. They were both absorbed in their own agendas, she said to Iaera.

Although Rasma Visiom was obviously intelligent and focused, she was perhaps _too_ focused, almost to a degree that made it become inflexibility. Nothing except the mission seemed to matter to that one, and to Rasma, Aria's word was law; she viewed the world through a single line of sight, carried the sole purpose of a soldier completely willing to be recruited as a tool or another prosaic component in Aria's grand machine only because it enabled her to pursue her goals of what Liselle suspected to be undiluted revenge. But that made her cold, Liselle said. Unapproachable and unrelateable—a disposition committing a disservice to her designated role as their team's acting leader. She did not unify them. Liselle and Malak were given no incentive or invitation to rally around Rasma, who would much rather grip their heads, force them to face a certain direction, and shove them toward that objective without any supporting motivation save for the unquestionable orders given by superiors. She'd leer at them with pale green eyes, the deeper, richer shade of ominous emerald shifting along the exterior plating of her face as she spoke and conducted them; ultimately standing afar, and only giving praise or confirming her respect for her two companions whenever they acted in a way that deeply impressed her.

And Malak Lekahn, so decorated by the pirates he once worked for, had the disposition of a temperamental young man. He was swimming in scorn, unable to move on from the nepotistic losses he had endured upon his cousin's death. There were times when Liselle wanted to cruelly ask him whether or not he was actually worth anything without Olat's favoritism, but technically she was not supposed to have been aware of the nature of his occupation, and insulting Malak so boldly would only result in losing a portion of what little cooperation they had through undesired episodes of arguing. But surely Aria had recruited him for a reason; surely Malak was valuable beyond the role of bodyguard-like muscle. She had specifically stated that he was an experienced war strategist, and Aria was well-connected enough to see through Malak if his dossier was attenuated of realism. Perhaps he was one of those _eccentric_ types; prodigies with minor cognitive or emotional deficits that one had to tolerate in order to benefit from the gifted mind concealed far beneath strata of difficulty. But that was just wishful thinking, Liselle recognized as her tone became doleful.

While making her way down the hallway, Liselle thought back to the conversation her team held after emerging from Afterlife. As Rasma composed her report to Aria, Malak had expressed his dissatisfaction with the Patriarch's claim, calling the krogan's perspective _speculation at best_. Rasma had dismissed his personal opinions as irrelevant to the mission, leaving Liselle to actually agree with the man for once. She didn't say anything to him, but Malak's simple derision had propagated a string of thoughts that occupied her mind for hours. The Patriarch's predictions weren't worthless, of course, but something about them was... _lacking_. He suspected civilian uprisings and organized attacks were the main source of trouble befalling Aria's syndicate, but judging from the careful planning and execution of the assassinations, the culprits definitely had training and access to expensive weapons, tech, armor, and as revealed... _poisons_.

Mobs did not inflict damage in such a sophisticated manner. Unhappy masses rose up in the form of loud storms racing down streets, throwing improvised projectiles and homemade grenades at the heads of authorities while shouting their demands. But there were no mobs. None that couldn't be swiftly dispersed after their formation.

As it stood alone, the Patriarch's claim crumbled into invalidity.

When Liselle retired to her room, she spent a moment standing at the foot of her bed, staring down at where her pack lied slightly crumpled upon the top sheet, its contents warping its form by creating dips and creases where the dark material wrapped around and clung to the objects stored within. Tempered orange light tinted and cradled the box-shaped room in burnt rays, throwing deep shadows against the stark canvas of the wall opposite from the wide window, producing moving echoes of the maiden pulling the pack open and removing perishable items. She ceased her motions as a peculiar feeling drifted into her head, averting her attention as the mood spread throughout her body and drew her eyes to the source of the baleful glow.

She looked out the window as her hands relaxed at her sides, watching distant vessels soar between towers like insects in a vast hive, lit by little candles of industry in the dark whose flames adamantly burned throughout an endless day in anticipation of a night that would never arrive. They were fixed in time, forever idling on the limits of a single dwindling hour, sentenced to flicker on the false promises of rest and peace. Liselle gravitated toward the glass pane, coming to a stop beside her desk where it stood pulled up to the sill so that time spent studying or browsing the extranet would be under a healthy bath of light. She folded her arms without thinking, continuing to stare off into the cityscape, eyes tracing the jungle of black power cables hanging between nearby spires like a system of connective tissue and veins quietly pulsing with vital energy.

She looked away again, struggling to make sense of the sudden illness gripping her mind—a sickness of restlessness, of being suffocated or made defunct. After casting a brief glance at the waxy synthetic leaves of the fake plant in the corner beside her desk, watching the fiery light glaze over the curving arcs of their spines, Liselle reached down to her belt, unfastened her pistol, and laid it out on her vacant workspace. The firearm was soon joined by its new ally the submachine gun, and there they sat placidly and motionlessly as their owner brooded over their position; triggers neglected, ammunition unspent, and bodies as cold as stone.

The illness pervading the maiden's thoughts finally presented her with a comprehensible question: why was she so offended at being kept out of action? Was it her pride grimacing at the idea of being underestimated, excluded; or was she just childishly eager to get her hands dirty with the tempting, fascinating grime of a world enclosing yet imprisoning her since her first inception? Was it age, like what everyone insisted was the reason behind her desire to leap into the fray? Maidenhood—like what Iaera said when Liselle expressed her agonizing boredom and trapped feelings, or was it deeper than that? Something justified, innate, and independent of her years?

Was she craving adventure, security for herself and her mother… or blood in general? Liselle lightly brushed her fingertips over the handle of her pistol after reaching out to it. If she wanted such blood, in what form was it sought? The blood of life-force, of a future endowed with vitality and prosperity, or the blood of death—spilt viscera of foes in assertion of one's dominance and competency, like a young hunter reared to feed and glorify itself through the demise of weaker creatures?

And what drove her to that noxious dilemma? Some poison in Omega's air that influenced the organisms in its raging cage to battle, or something awakening in her genes, passed down from an _obvious_ carrier of violent inclinations?

It could have been an inherited vice, a _need_ for conflict like a fuel for their unique bodies and minds to burn with no other substitute. The notion disturbed Liselle at first, but as for Aria… Aria _loved_ what she did. Her mother never expressed her adoration for the lifestyle she had chosen though any effable means, but it was apparent to any who had ever seen her smile after having the disparate local gangs essentially swearing their fealty and deference to her, or when she succumbed to rare bouts of soft yet wicked laughter when receiving reports of her enemies reacting tragically poorly to deceptive war tactics she had contrived and employed.

But what of her daughter? She was offspring of the queen, carrying old memories inside her skull of times during her childhood when her mother taught her how to hold and fire a gun—eidetic memories came to her then, recalling Aria's stronger, larger hands fitting over her smaller, delicate ones, guiding her fingers around the gun's hand grip, a finger to the trigger, a lecture about a steady aim and a small released breath upon taking the shot—and when she monitored her first biotic attempts—Aria standing nearby in that lonely quarry-like area within huge walls of buildings, talking her through the focusing of her biotics while executing an attack—before entrusting Zuria with her. Teaching her the way of Omega as if nothing else in the universe mattered, nothing but survival through instruments of violence imposed onto a child expected by some incorporeal, looming force animating the hostile station to follow the paths of fantastic, powerful predecessors; to contribute or even surpass the former generation in excellence, as the nature of evolution demanded. But to accomplish such a daunting enterprise, Liselle required passion. Passion, ideas, and most importantly, _identity_.

_What am I going to be?_ Liselle silently asked herself, head tilted downward at an angle where her crest intercepted the light emitted by the window, eyes relaxed in the shadows as she continued to stare at her guns. _Why am I so… impatient? I was so ready to be someone, ready to start making my own decisions and creating my own future, but I'm not even certain about where I'll go from there. If everything goes as planned—if I join the effort, if I manage to help Mother find our enemies and if we successfully defeat them, what becomes of me afterward? Can I ever go back, can I ever stay out of anything ever again? Am I going to become a lot like her? Am I going to love this? Am I _supposed_ to love this?_

She began apprehensively tapping her fingertips onto the desk. They soon gripped the handle of her pistol, lifting it and bringing it close to her face for an idle examination.

_Am I just… lobbying for her respect?_ she thought, eyes tracing along the metal shell, eventually and gradually glancing off to peer out the window again with her gun still held aloft. The light was a hearth upon her face, both comforting and worryingly reminiscent of unchecked fire at once. _Trying to prove to Mother that I am an adult now and will no longer walk in her shadow while under her protection? No... I really do want to help. I really do, even if I'm doing this for myself too._

Another thought occurred to her.

_She's probably giving me time to reconsider. That's why she keeps us out of trouble—she wants me to spend time thinking about this, regretting my decision. Well, I won't. I won't give her that satisfaction. _

The girl had not admitted it or even so much as acknowledged it, but she carried her mother's pride as prominently as she did her eyes. And like her mother, said pride could—or _would_—lead her into trouble.

_I'm not backing out_, she thought, reinforcing her own decision. _Whatever comes, I'm not backing out. No matter how many times she suspends or delays us from going out, I'm not going to say a single word. I'm going to jump at every opportunity she gives me and not return home until we've completed our objectives. No matter how risky it may become. She'll see. _

Liselle gently set the gun back down onto her desk, moving beneath the diaphanous gloss of orange light. Her fingers almost trembled, the urge to leave the apartment again virtually spilling from her nerves. They were withdrawals from being weaned off the taste of freedom, of uncertainty and danger—undoubtedly another inherited proclivity. With the taste of Omega's smoke-lined, blood-particulated air on her tongue, coating her very lungs, Liselle could only think about running out into that wide metal snare again; the unfathomable place of her birth, the realm most likely to house most of her life, and perhaps... even her death, if Omega so chose to swallow and keep her.

* * *

:::

* * *

The timing of Aria T'Loak's transmission to the Citadel Council was not precisely impeccable, but the sheer urgency of the call immediately prompted a hasty retrieval of all three councilors from whatever business they were currently attending to and collective deliverance to a comm room where they answered the transmission. Unfortunately, said retrieval consumed approximately fifteen minutes, leaving their Omegan correspondent to ferment in her own mounting displeasure until she was finally granted a tardy audience.

The assembled Council, perturbed and ignorant of what tragedy could warrant pulling them out of their important daily agendas, were only further bewildered when the hologram of Spectre Lerath appeared alongside Aria T'Loak when they accessed the communication console. It was startling and terribly outlandish to see their agent standing at attention, arms neatly folded behind his back, with Omega's most powerful figure contemptuously seated in an armchair beside him. The peculiar duo coerced a collective pause from the Council—a moment of disorientation followed by the desperate retrieval of their temporarily-compromised wits. The Council had always habitually and consistently issued an irrefutable command to all Spectres working within Aria T'Loak's sphere of influence—or while _anywhere_ in the Terminus Systems for that matter—to avoid Aria and any other prominent entities at all costs lest a dispute or even war arose as a consequence of excess interference; and to witness this unprecedented sight drew their attention like blood from a wound.

And so the Council's initial, private reaction was one of consummate dismay. Had Lerath violated that golden rule? Had Aria T'Loak captured Lerath after finding him illicitly pilfering around in her syndicate? If that was the case… Spectre Lerath was the responsibility of the Council, and they would have to reassure Aria that his actions were not of their volition, and that the Council, as tentative allies, wished no harm unto her. But beyond merely clarifying their innocuous intentions, a sincere apology would be required if Lerath had caused Aria notable trouble. And _none_ of them were particularly pleased by the notion of beseeching forgiveness from a Terminus Space crimelord, tentative ally or not. A great deal of dignity and face was suddenly at stake, putting them all on edge and injecting a dose of anxiety into their bodies.

Councilor Tevos shifted her gaze a tad and caught Forlan's furtive glance sent in her direction; an expression wordlessly informing her that since Lerath had been deployed on her orders, she was designated to carry most of the incident's repercussions as well as the duty of making amends with Aria if necessary. It wasn't an antagonizing glance, however. Rather, Councilor Forlan appeared somewhat reluctant, as if he were only sending her those grim thoughts purely out of obligation—a solemn reminder that the Council comprised three independent people, each held to his or her own government's troubles and relations. While the Council was one voice upon concluding their deliberations, that united product contained three separate sources of input. There were many times when their words could not intermingle, times when each councilor had to address an issue on their own, especially in matters pertaining to their specific peoples. And this circumstance concerned the frail armistice contrived between Omega and Asari High Command, which sharply increased the likelihood of Councilor Tevos and Aria T'Loak solely having the floor by the conclusion of the impending conversation.

After the Council gave their standard greetings, to which Aria responded with a persistent frown and silence, the latter spoke; slowly and austerely, choosing her words carefully as the projection of her body lightly and unsettlingly shimmered. _"Today,"_ Aria began, looking at them all in turn, _"I was forced to deal with a rather unfortunate situation. A Spectre of yours attempted to kill me."_

The Council's horrified eyes instantly darted to Lerath, who reacted to the fearful, accusing gazes with a shift in his foot placement, unsure of how to defend himself against the abrupt, unanticipated vilification.

To quell the developing trouble she had ignited—inadvertently; or perhaps deliberately and _spitefully_ to torture her correspondents and draw sick amusement from their resulting, troubled demeanors in compensation for her grievances—Aria clarified, _"It was an asari Spectre named Neora. I'll give you the executive summary: somehow, she managed to get into one of my private cabs, and while I was aboard, she tried to assassinate me. Needless to say, she failed and I killed her."_

The three councilors were at a loss for words. Tevos, particularly, was the very most confused and concerned. "She's… _dead?_" Tevos tentatively inquired after gathering her disarrayed thoughts that had nearly spilled from her grasp. "She tried to kill you?"

The very idea was preternatural to the highest degree. Neora had been an excellent Spectre, always closely following erected protocols and faithfully returning from every mission to present the Council with the product of her best efforts as well as ubiquitous optimism, even when some condition or component of her task had failed. For her to be dead was already in itself a painful shock—but for her to have committed such a transgression against Aria, the Council, and the Citadel containing the people whom she had often professed her great love for, was spectacularly unbelievable.

"_That's correct,"_ Aria replied to the Council's shared dismay. Her position in her chair was rigid with suppressed anger, and her voice was tempered by her own will to remain calm. She was obviously extremely upset with the situation as well, but from a much, much different side of the spectrum of negative emotion.

After an uncomfortable moment of silence passed spent inside their troubled thoughts, the turian councilor revived their conference. "Spectre Lerath, can you attest to this account?" Estulius asked the statuesque salarian.

He gave a single cheerless nod, but hesitated. _"...I can, but only partially. Neora is in fact dead; I can confirm that. I… at least I _believe_ I can confirm that. But I was not a witness to the events that happened inside the cab. I can say nothing about that."_

The turian councilor made a thoughtful grumble, glancing over at his fellow councilors to assess their reflected dubious expressions. "This… This is quite an incident we have on our hands. And I fear the direness about it is rapidly escalating by the second. But certainly Spectre Neora could not have even _dreamt_ of trying to take your life. The Council thoroughly lectures our agents on the importance of staying uninvolved in Terminus affairs, especially when regarding your syndicate. Our agents are only sent there on missions to collect information on specific events or groups who pose as immediate threats to Council space. You are _not _on that list, we assure you. I can't fathom any of us harboring such a heinous motive to deal violence against you." As he finished his statement, his eyes drifted to Tevos, seeking her input and support.

Tevos made to subsidize Estulius' assurance with her own confirmation and recital of Council mandate, but as she parted her lips to begin, she found an entirely new string of words being pulled from her conscience and planted on her tongue. Her initial pause steadily morphed into a faint doubtful expression, and she averted her green eyes from Aria's to instead find those of her Spectre's—anxious rings rimming large, dark, ovular pupils. "Lerath," she gently captured his attention, "You said that you_ believe_ you are able to confirm Neora's death. What did you mean by that?"

Lerath tilted his chin upward ever so slightly. He was evidently distressed by the answer he was about to give the asari councilor, and they could not fathom why until he had sewn together his acceptably cogent reply. _"When I came upon the scene, you see, Aria T'Loak was standing over Spectre Neora. __And Neora's body… was massively damaged. Blackened by a blast originating in the cab; limbs were mangled, missing, and her face… It didn't constitute much of a face anymore."_ He suffered another pause, keeping his expression void of any superfluous emotion generated by his recollection of the horrific death of a former colleague and coworker. _"The degree of trauma was easily beyond the parameters of what any asari could hope to endure and survive. I only said I _believed_ she was dead because after a brief moment of speaking with Aria T'Loak, during which our eyes were no longer on the body… it had… lost itself over the edge of the street-tier we were standing on. And I reasoned that if Neora was still capable of movement after what her body had been through, who's to say that she's incapable of surviving a fall of inestimable distance?"_

"Lost itself?" Councilor Forlan repeated with disdain. "What do you mean by _lost_ itself? Someone discarded her over the edge of the street, and you didn't stop them?"

"_Nothing of the sort happened, Councilor_," said Lerath. _"Neora dragged herself over the edge without any interference. Perhaps she truly was still alive, and was in such agony as to take measures to… end it." _As he finished, his tone became quite grim.

"So was she dead or not?" Esutlius asked, his voice growing a hint of impatience. "Before you 'lost' her, didn't anyone check her vital signs?"

"_No,"_ Aria stepped back into the conference before the Spectre could respond. _"I was too preoccupied with learning that a _Council Spectre_ was pulling guns on me and wiring my cabs with explosives. But take my word on this—I know death when I see it, and I when I cause it, I make sure I'm thorough. After she tried to shoot me in the cab, I snapped her neck hard enough to kill her instantly. And after I escaped the cab and recovered what was left of her body, her face was thoroughly distorted and I could see the blackened contours of her skull. If she hadn't been burned to the lungs or elsewhere, the explosion's impact had more than enough force to cause fatal hemorrhaging, ruptures, and the sort."_

"So what exactly are we expected to believe here?" the turian councilor incredulously asked while Tevos steadily paled a few shades from hearing the gruesome account, and Forlan's brow lowered in visible execration. "That a Spectre who has performed excellent work over the course of several decades without a single blemish in her modes of conduct suddenly and inexplicably went rogue, tried to assassinate the most influential figure in the Terminus Systems, and then continued to move about after her own death?" He scoffed. "Do you realize how ostentatious your story is? We cannot give this any credibility, I'm afraid. Even with a Spectre as a _partial _witness, we could never accept your claim without mountainous physical evidence."

Throughout the duration of Estulius' expressed rejection, Aria had turned her eyes onto Tevos, who returned the gaze with an implicit understanding of their suspended silence and the meaning it bore. The nature of the examined incident was terribly familiar, and the two continued to mutually hold the stare, communicating their suspicions without a single exchanged word, even after the turian councilor had finished.

"These events, as described by both Aria T'Loak and Spectre Lerath," Tevos said, still looking at Aria, "are magnificently… _coincidental_ if they are unrelated to a previous account of similar happenings. If all acquired information is _truthful_, that is."

Aria subtly began to glare at the asari councilor's persisting doubt, resenting her refusal to promote her word as reliable.

"A previous account?" asked Forlan. "What, you mean something similar has happened before? When; where? And why were we not informed?"

"_What an excellent question,"_ Aria poisonously remarked, canting her head at Tevos while they all began abiding her answer.

"Oh, you expected me to relay to the other councilors an account of intelligence highly suspect of being deficient in factuality?" Tevos gracefully defended herself, never taking her eyes away from Aria's. She did not receive her antagonism well; after all the support and civil words Tevos had generously offered her over the previous weeks, Aria still insisted on changing her allegiance with as much volatility as the weather. "I don't think I would be so careless and amateurishly undiscriminating to do such a thing. However, the situation has now evolved to a point where my disclosure has become relevant and necessary. Less than a week ago Aria divulged me in a few details about one of the murders in her administration—the case of the batarian Olat Dar'nerah, who was witnessed making his way through the nightclub Afterlife while he was already presumably dead. Apparently, he climbed onto an ornamental sculpture, became still, and when an employee checked on him, the man was found to be dead with… without his eyes," Tevos finished with a small hitch of distaste. "It seems this phenomenon has enveloped Neora as well. Therefore, these events, if true, are undeniably connected in some way."

The other two councilors, as predicted, reacted poorly to the unsubstantiated testimony.

"Well I'm glad you shared this with us now," Estulius grumbled, "but we still can't invest in it."

"So what do you suppose we do about this?" Forlan asked while looking over at the turian councilor. "We have no body, no witnesses to the actual attack and killing aside from Aria T'Loak herself, and most of all…" He paused, glancing at both of his fellow councilors in thought before looking at Aria. "I think the Council needs a few moments to deliberate in private. Can we all agree on a brief recess of a few minutes?"

Aria made no sign of consent at first; only after Tevos and Estulius had expressed their agreement did she give the smallest of reluctant, displeased nods, likely in the support of any new strategy that would yield some progress instead of uselessly prattling on as they were doing at the moment.

The Council put the transmission on hold, stepped away from the console, and reorganized themselves into a small circle between the cold gray walls of the comm room. Arms were folded in budding contempt, whether held in front of their torsos in shameless conveyance of their collective mood, or kept behind their backs with intended but ineffective secrecy.

"We don't have a clear motive," Forlan said, evidently continuing where his last statement had trailed off. "If Aria T'Loak did in fact murder Spectre Neora, that is. I can't fathom a reason why she would dare to provoke hostility between the Citadel and Omega. And the fact that she would readily and openly confess to a disastrous murder absolutely confounds me."

Estulius gave a solemn nod. "Well, motive aside, we seem to have few options at this point. We don't have evidence to say that T'Loak killed our Spectre unprovoked, and she does not have the evidence to say that the Council ordered an attack. I think our efforts should be focused on discovering what happened, why our Spectre is dead, and addressing whatever third-party entity brought this about, if one exists. Might you have anything to add, Councilor Tevos?"

"I have countless hypotheses," Tevos said. "But I do agree with both of you. Aria gains extremely little by antagonizing us, especially in her state of affairs. The very last thing she needs is to create another enemy for herself. As for the high probability of a third party being responsible for Spectre Neora's demise, the only way to find out who they are, I believe, is listening to and considering Aria's claims. I do not mean we necessarily have to subscribe to them as absolutely truthful, but a chance is always present that she would be willing to send us whatever data she's gathered on that aforementioned event—the one involving Olat Dar'nerah—and we could operate from that starting point. Autopsy records, other recorded deaths in her administration, and what information her pursuit of her aggressors up to the present has yielded."

"But what if her records have been tampered with or contrived altogether to serve another agenda?" Forlan inquired. "As you said before, what Aria T'Loak told you about this Olat Dar'nerah could not be taken seriously because you had no way of knowing whether or not the story was true."

She hesitated for a long span of time as the other councilors watched her, patiently anticipating whatever resolution she could offer them. Unbeknownst to them, Tevos' thoughts had wandered to more domestic potential culprits, and although the name of the entity continuously resurfacing in her mind brought her great distress, she could not afford to ignore her own fears. It was, unfortunately, possible for Asari High Command to have been involved in the incident. She didn't have the faintest clue how they would've manipulated the loyal Spectre Neora into carrying out such a deed before willingly walking into her subsequent death and chilling aftermath, but Neora's betrayal in the very first place was no more outlandish than that scenario.

_Poor, poor girl,_ Tevos mournfully turned her thoughts to Neora. _I do not think you a villain; I do not think you would betray us so. Your memory deserves a bit of mercy and benefit of the doubt in light of the horrors and coercion you might have endured…_

Setting her personal reflexes aside, Tevos returned to her diplomatic strategizing. These strange circumstances allowed for the existence of strange suspects, and Asari High Command was not exempt from her list. They were publicly perceived as a league of guardians; big-minded, noble matriarchs with the single agenda of focusing their efforts on the security of the asari people, but there were many times when they played quite the diabolical game in order to mold the galaxy in their favor from where they lingered poised in the shadows of Thessia, quietly and discreetly sending out agents, taking lives, and planting people and ships in regions where they swayed local affairs. But still… the phenomenon of movement after death remained unexplained. What purpose could they have in generating that terror? There was little if any utility to be found in inevitably spending large sums of money on research and resources used to reanimate corpses just to frighten Aria through what was indisputably an act of terrorism—a message sent to Aria and her administration (as well as the entirety of Omega, for that matter). They were assertions of dominance in the arenas of intelligence, capability, and power; all done from afar through the proxies of nightmarish, grisly scenes, and they were specifically manufactured for Aria's eyes and Omega's imagination. To make the queen tremble and falter while Omega shuddered in disbelief and confusion. To inspire doubt and panic.

Whether it was working or not wasn't clear to Tevos, however, for she knew Aria to be as impervious to the hideous and gruesome as a block of concrete. If anything, those horrors were only irritating her. But either way, and regardless of who Aria's enemy was, it was in the Council's utmost interest to preserve a healthy peace between Omega and their territories, and Aria stood resolutely at the junction of their relations. The lone envoy was more representational of Omega's (and therefore likely the rest of the Terminus Systems') interests than any other living person, and to keep her—someone actually cooperative with the Council to an extent—breathing and in power was nearly imperative.

Tevos regarded the rest of Council again at length. "I propose that you let me speak to Aria T'Loak in private. At the very least her accounts deserve an audience, as do my own concerns," she said. In response to their questioning looks, she added, "There are… a few matters of secrecy to the asari people that she is aware of, and I find these matters to be extremely relevant at this time. I would normally advocate your inclusion, but deciding such things is outside my prerogative."

Estulius and Forlan exchanged a glance as well as their gradual acquiescence to Tevos' proposal. Through the brief eye contact, it was mutually and silently established that they both still found Tevos to be the most appropriate negotiator and political correspondent to Aria. After all, not only was Tevos the asari councilor who helped ratify the peace treaty between Aria T'Loak and the Asari Republics, consequentially making her a mutual 'ally' of the Citadel (for the perpetual lack of a better term), but over the years Councilor Tevos and Aria T'Loak had developed an ambassadorial relationship with one another, and thus far, very few mishaps had been recorded. The turian and salarian councilors had abundant faith in her for that reason and because they were both impressed with her long-lasting success. And so that suggestion, that essential offer to relieve her fellow councilors from exhausting, stressful talks with Aria translated into the statement of: _I have dealt with her before and I can deal with her again._

Before they left the asari councilor, however, Estulius expressed a lingering concern, "How can we publicly address this? We're going to need an acceptable cover-up story. People know who Neora is and her disappearance will rouse questions and outrage if we stay silent. But if we're _too_ transparent, it will either vilify Aria T'Loak as a 'Spectre-killer' and convince people that Omega is an enemy, or it will cause panic and distrust over the prospect of Spectres going rogue and… becoming _ghosts_. Both outcomes will cause us grave injury."

"After I speak to Aria I will contact you both," replied Tevos, "and after updating you on the results of our conversation we can schedule a meeting with the Council's press secretary and prepare a statement. I suppose we'll also have to prepare something for Neora's surviving relatives—it'll likely involve telling them that her death is being investigated. Vagueness will likely be abused over the next week, I fear. Until we have better grasp of the situation, I'd label this incident as being highly confidential and it should not be discussed with anyone lacking appropriate levels of clearance. I assume we can agree on that?"

They gave their approval and departed from the comm room, leaving Tevos alone in what the other councilors perceived as a cage with a dangerous creature held within; the wild, crowned beast of Omega, against which Tevos would pit her reason and mild temperament, and emerge with resolution in hand while miraculously bearing no marks from teeth or claws.

When she resumed their transmission, bringing forth the images of Aria and Spectre Lerath into the room once again, she promptly received a suspicious look from Aria, accompanied with a dry question, _"Where's the rest of your clique?"_

"You and I need to talk," Tevos flatly answered before turning her eyes onto Lerath. "Spectre Lerath, we're going to need our privacy for the remainder of our discussion. I urge you to return to the Citadel as soon as possible."

"_Yes ma'am,"_ he said. _"I'll arrange for my departure immediately."_

The image of Lerath vanished. Only Tevos and Aria remained, heads held at subtle, proud tilts and postures filled to the brims with professional, dignified confidence.

To break the thin, distant air of the conversational climate, Tevos passively said to Aria, "I expect my Spectre back within twenty hours."

She tilted her head, feigning amusement, but that expression belied the reality of her offense. _"Don't worry. I'll spare this one."_

Tevos found no humor in Aria's tasteless reassurance. But instead of allowing cold silence to manifest between them anew, she went ahead and entered their revived discussion with an honest reassurance of her own, "I explicitly forbade Neora from getting anywhere near you."

But to the councilor's dismay, her statement seemed to have the opposite effect she originally intended for it. Aria's features were gradually darkening into paranoid suspicion, sowing the first seeds of hostility which were destined to eventually erupt into a terrible overgrowth of rage if Tevos failed to tame it in the near future. Of course, she understood the origins of Aria's anger. It was perfectly reasonable for Aria to have been upset at the occurrence of a Spectre—an agent belonging to a government supposedly at peace with Omega—repurposed as a weapon to be used against her. But what was _not_ reasonable was the rashness of Aria's assumptions. Surely she didn't seriously believe that Tevos could have sent Neora after her, did she?

"Aria," Tevos began again, adopting a quieter, gentler tone, "I am not presently challenging your or Lerath's claim that Neora was involved in this, nor am I totally rejecting the idea that she attacked you."

"_You seemed pretty dismissive of it while in the presence of the other councilors,"_ Aria pointed out. _"Not that it came as a surprise to me. Wouldn't want to embarrass ourselves now, would we? To even consider trusting my word is indicative of either mental illness or treason, isn't it?"_

"I refuse to be impulsive," Tevos said, growing rigid. "How could you expect me to defend your claims without incredible caution? The story you've given us is outrageous at best, and I will have you understand that I am here to speak to you in private because I _do_ give your claim some credence and am willing to hear it while free from potentially damaging my own reputation amongst my associates."

"_I should have never agreed to allow your Spectres to prowl my territories,"_ Aria icily said while seeming to disregard Tevos' previous statement, immersed in her own bitter cognitions. _"I had a gut feeling against it. Even though they promised to stay out of my sight and keep away from my syndicate, I knew trouble would come from it down the road. I don't want them anywhere near Omega anymore, do you understand me? They are hereby banned from my station and if I ever see one again I will fucking shoot them on sight."_

Tevos was initially surprised at the sudden audacious threat, but her shock quickly transmuted into offense. She was about to respond to the attack by heavily criticizing Aria's foolish choice to risk antagonizing a galactic superpower, but before the words could leave her lips, her close scrutiny of Aria's expression revealed to her a superimposed layer of thought. Aria was enraged at having her leniency with the Council turned against her, but there was something else deeply embedded in that ire; a defensive instinct of survival, a fight-or-flight response to the ambiguity of the situation she was finding herself within.

All too suddenly, the Council's trustworthiness was being put on trial, and a verdict had not yet been reached. And so, in the potency of a well-measured but paradoxically panicked reflex, Aria was beginning to destroy all the avenues through which the Council could cause her any further harm if they were indeed her enemy. The thick, surrounding miasma of uncertainty was poisoning her.

"So that's your infallible solution?" Tevos asked her, moderating her tone, but still trying to make Aria see reason. "To shut yourself off from all who may be of use to you solely because they _might_ pose as legitimate threats?"

Aria said nothing, more or less resulting in the conveyance of confirmation.

"So you plan on doing precisely what we think your enemy is trying to make you do?" Tevos continued. "Severing alliances until you've rendered yourself isolated in sheer paranoia—vulnerable, angry, and hysterically accusing everyone near you of dissent and consequently driving them away and against you?"

"_They're not going anywhere,"_ Aria growled. _"And I don't let my emotions control me. I make sure to take the most logical, beneficial course of action. And right now, risking another encounter with a well-trained, well-armed and well-learned Spectre will not advance my ambitions or health. I'm not cutting myself off from you. I want a temporary suspension from you. Until I'm certain that the Council isn't hostile to me, I want you nowhere near Omega while I resolve these issues on my own. There is much to do and I will not waste any of my efforts trying to ascertain whether the agents skulking around Sahrabarik are planning to attack me."_

"And so far, what have you accomplished on your own?" the councilor inquired. "Have you discovered anything about your enemy, aside from the fact that they hate you and prefer to remain unnamed? Or have you been too preoccupied with annexing more territory, trying to unite a station currently in turmoil as it cracks behind you, engendering and leaking… new _factions_ who resent the forceful change you bring? How long do you plan on gambling so recklessly like this; brushing off one assassination attempt after another? At some point, you will encounter an attempt that you will fail to evade. It's only a matter of time until then. Please do enlighten me—for how long do you plan on allowing things to persist as they are?"

Aria rose from her seat, and despite her presence in the comm room only being a flickering body of light, the intimidating qualities of her movements were as apparent as Tevos vividly remembered from years previously. The councilor made no sign of fear, however, and remained stationary as Aria began to speak.

_"Quite a while, actually,"_ she sneered. _"Throughout my life I've dealt with people trying to kill me and this is no different. I can do this for years to come, Councilor."_ Aria paced a few steps, folded her arms, and leered at Tevos. _"You need to get it through your skull that I am a warlord; by definition a wager of war, and war always comes back to find me. This is what I do and you have no say in it whatsoever, so don't even try to advise me in a field which you know nothing about. Don't try to get involved in my business at all, actually."_

"Only days ago you voluntarily decided to involve me," Tevos calmly pointed out, referring to the fact that Aria had allowed her access to sensitive information such as her illness and the assassinations plaguing her organization. "I don't think it was unreasonable to interpret it as an invitation to have a say in 'your business'."

With a deep frown appearing on her lips, Aria temporarily looked away and glared at something in the room she stood within many light-years away, still holding her arms across her chest. _"Things change."_

Tevos slowly and inaudibly exhaled as she suddenly began to feel enervated, burdened, and surprisingly, compassionate. It was generated from the familiarity of her situation; the stubborn Aria T'Loak bringing back memories of similar dilemmas they remarkably persevered through and overcame despite their drastic personal differences.

It was equally as strange as well, how Tevos had so easily set aside her embarrassment regarding their exchange from the previous night to make way for more important things to occupy her conscience, as if the urgency of their diplomatic relationship had instantaneously overridden their confused and petty flirtations with delving back into what Tevos once vowed to never consider again—on instinct, on the powerful premise of duty. That was the general trend these days, the councilor recognized; swift and sometimes violent oscillations between the professionalism and formality of an ambassadorial connection, and the almost-masochistic excitement that came with being the instigators and sole archivists of one of the most scandalous mating rituals every produced by history. Those two faces of their abnormal relationship should not have been able to peacefully coexist, Tevos believed, and when they tried, the expected result would have been a dangerous concoction; a volatile, confused mixture at constant war, desperately trying to make sense of itself or invent a method through which the halves might be spliced together. And they could be—and they were gradually accomplishing just that in spite of the councilor's dubiousness and resistance.

But then what, Tevos asked herself? Allow that abomination to roam freely? A relationship of diplomacy tainted by_ personal_ investments, set loose upon Citadel politics? She did not want to acknowledge that it was beginning to come into existence in defiance of her labels of absurdity. Whatever was transpiring between them was insisting on continuity, and no amount of avoidance could hold the issue at bay for long.

Tevos drew in a small breath of resolve. "Aria, I want to help you," she said, solemnly accepting her own truthfulness, though once again tragically uncertain of whether the statement originated in personal or diplomatic concerns for the other asari. "I _can_ help you. You once said and demonstrated years previously that you are not incapable of collaboration when you find it to be profitable. And in this case, we can _both_ profit from maintaining contact. Just as you don't want to lose Omega to someone else, the Citadel doesn't want to lose you either. Wars are tragic and expensive, Aria. We'd vastly prefer it if you stayed in power and helped continue preventing the skirmishes that once frequently punctuated our history."

Aria found her eyes again; irate and unconvinced. _"Oh yeah? And what then? I let your Spectres back onto Omega, give you access to my caches of invaluable information, start signing more agreements and treaties… Tell me, Councilor, what then? What becomes of Omega?"_ She briefly held her hands out to illustrate her contempt as every word left her lips doused in fuel and lit aflame. _"It becomes another fucking slave to the Citadel, infected with your bureaucratic parasites and stripped of all the freedoms I vowed to protect? Fuck you. Fuck all of you. Omega isn't your colonial investment and I'd rather die tomorrow and hand over my station to the assholes trying to kill me than let the Council or Asari High Command infest it."_

In light of a certain name, Tevos allowed the nasty verbal assault to glide over her despite her strong instincts to admonish Aria for cursing at her. That woman was almost _incomprehensible _sometimes; always reacting to her pledges of aid with rudeness or accusations. However, Tevos ultimately decided to focus on a point of much greater importance. "Asari High Command?" she cautiously repeated, hollowed out by alertness and worry.

"_Don't play dumb,"_ Aria shook her head in disapproval. _"You know what they're up to._ _Just this morning they had the nerve to request putting some of their people in my organization to help out, but I know what they ultimately plan for. They want to start integrating themselves into my networks and relay intel back to their superiors. I politely refused. At least they had the decency to actually ask before throwing their spies at me."_

"So you forbade them from placing any of their agents on Omega?" Tevos prodded further to investigate. "And they complied?"

"_They've given their word, but I don't trust it. I'm going to keep a lookout for any suspicious arrivals."_

Tevos fell silent, fixated on Aria's body of photons as their conversation was frozen by their wordless communication—just subtle movements of eyes and heads held at tiny, insinuating cants. She watched Aria's line of sight minutely flit about her face, analyzing her.

The reality of what had happened slowly became clear to the councilor. On one front, Tevos had been informed that Asari High Command were planning the awakening of the sleeper agents if Aria should meet her doom, and on the other front, they were requesting that Aria allow them to post agents on Omega _when they were already there_. It was, by all means, a way of testing Aria's awareness of them, to better assess their level of secrecy in order to predict their effectiveness when… _what? _For _what_, Tevos wondered? If Aria fell from power, her awareness of the agents would become inconsequential. So whatever Asari High Command was preparing for involved Aria in some way—but in _what_ way? To dare hastening Aria's demise, or to protect her from the shadows? Neither would please the crimelord in question, of course. And what of the _timing_ of their offer to Aria, Tevos pondered? The morning of another assassination attempt which curiously involved a Council Spectre? She began to feel unwell and uneasy—the feeling only doubling when she recalled that she could say nothing to Aria in this setting, not when their discussion's secrecy could potentially be compromised.

"And you haven't encountered any?" Tevos resumed. "Agents from Asari High Command, that is?"

"_No," _Aria replied after a short pause._ "Not yet."_ She gazed back at Tevos, keeping her under that same intense scrutiny as she tried to make sense of her strange behavior.

"Aria… I think you should to come to the Citadel to continue sorting this all out. As Councilor Estulius said, we have quite an incident on our hands."

Aria scoffed at the proposal. _"You want me to come to the Citadel? You want me to abandon Omega at a time like this to go play politician with you? Don't make me laugh. I don't have time for that and I've already made it quite clear that I will not be welcoming any 'help' you intend to offer. I alone am very capable of defending myself and my interests, Councilor."_

"Of course, you're free to do that as you please," Tevos swiftly said, racing against losing Aria to her crystallizing incentives. "But would it not benefit you to have auxiliary support if you should need it?" Tevos asked her, desperately trying to convey the severity of her request only through the insisting expression in her eyes.

Aria was quiet.

"Aria, please," she persisted. "Come to the Citadel."

The crimelord did not answer. She was thinking while still staring at the councilor, picking up fleeting pieces of something much larger than an imploring gaze; bits of grave importance and urgency.

"Will you do this for me?" Tevos asked.

The question, in essence, was a request for a personal favor. It transcended both halves of their relationship in their independent states—rather, it united them. Intentions to entertain diplomatic, strategic talks were fused together with a distinct connection beyond professionalism, where they maintained that peculiar sense of entanglement whenever they spoke, the vague sensation of being somewhat obliged to one another. Even Aria was perplexed by it, as evidenced by the intensity in her eyes and their movements. She was calculating, trying to categorize or define her miraculous realization that Councilor Tevos had something of incredible importance and secrecy to tell her without explicitly saying so, as well as her own reaction to learning of it. She was profoundly interested in what Tevos had to tell her, in the councilor's successful persuasion without having to reveal copious detail, and in that the request was presented so informally yet without losing its significance.

_"…I'll consider it,"_ Aria finally replied, her voice sounding mildly absent as she eyed Tevos with effaced suspicion and intrigue. _"I'll get back to you in a few hours with my answer."_

Tevos held her breath as she gave a small but grateful nod, fearing that the smallest sigh of relief would make Aria aware of the unease leading up to her reply. When neither said anything more, Aria terminated the call, leaving Tevos alone to her thoughts in the comm room, hands still folded neatly and pensively behind her back. Although Aria had given her an unclear, undecided answer for the moment, the councilor easily read into that guarded language. Aria had essentially said _yes_ in a dialect exclusively spoken by her, and years spent communicating with her had immersed Tevos in enough of its rhetoric for her to have achieved a functional degree of fluency.

_And she has learned to speak my dialect as well, it seems_, Tevos mused to herself as she faced the room's door, preparing to depart. She recalled the light of understanding developing in Aria's eyes, breaking through their barriers of ice and universal distrust while she profusely cogitated their exchanged dialogue of both facial nuances and sparse words.

But that victory, that successful persuasion, had not come without a cost. Oh, how Aria had cursed at her and initially stepped on her explanations and offers as if only in spite—and how Tevos had allowed her to! An abrupt surge of indignity flooded the councilor. But as always, she reacted to the feeling by pausing to ask herself: _What did you expect?_

She strode through the opening doors and began making her way down a hall with the intention to contact the remainder of the Council within the next few minutes.

_ Aria is a demanding person with a natural hatred for all that you are and all that you cannot or will not be to serve her interests. And yet, all the same... you come to her, and her to you, with the most sensitive information we can affordably disclose, all based in implicit trust disguised by the countenance of tactic. I previously suspected that we would be suffering a severe lack of communication as the situation worsened, but that will not be the case. Not so long as I hold any degree of influence over her. And since I do, she truly does harbor a large amount of respect for me, even if it may not be as patent as I'd like it to be. She merely forgets that she respects me, I think. Or denies it out of a sense of duty to Omega's principles of anti-government._

A faint, harmless smile crossed her features.

_So curious that you choose to cross me, only to accept my offered hand in aid a moment later. Such indecisiveness shall not be permitted much longer. My patience might be abundant, but it is still finite._

* * *

:::

* * *

Following the asari councilor's rendezvous with the two other members of their powerful trio, they entered a discussion regarding Aria's apparent willingness to collaborate with the Citadel in order to locate and bring her enemy to cessation. Previously, the notion of aiding Aria was only noncommittally entertained as a possible route to take in order to keep Omega and its surrounding Terminus allies in check. But now, the death of a Spectre on their hands as a product of the turmoil Aria had attracted in recent days pulled the Council into the tempestuous ordeal unexpectedly and violently. They were obligated to respond in _some_ manner. How much they were to respond was still up for debate, however.

It was agreed upon amongst the Council that Aria would be welcomed onto the Citadel for a day in the event that she accepted Tevos' offer. It was also recognized that Aria might request an exclusive audience with the asari councilor due to the confidentiality of some material currently in play, and the salarian and turian councilors generously gave Tevos their faith and confidence to deal with the situation with enough tact and discretion to compensate their absence. Shortly after, an inclusion of the Council's press secretary in the discussion yielded a composed statement addressing Spectre Neora's death to be delivered within the week, first to her surviving family members, and then to be given to public inquiry if or when it came.

The grim statement entailed much vagueness, as they had predicted; Neora had vanished somewhere in the Terminus Systems, they would say, as no body had been recovered and communications were completely lost. Death was unconfirmed, and an investigation was underway. The statement was not as deceptive as they had anticipated, fortunately. After all, the nature and circumstances of Neora's supposed death were in reality shrouded in questions and unknowns. A detailed statement could not be released even if they wanted to prepare one.

After sacrificing a few hours of the work day to that end, Tevos was finally able to return to her office where she contacted Irissa with the intention of resuming their conversation from earlier that morning. Instead of inviting her friend to her office, Tevos decided on an audio call while she hastily turned half of her attention to some work she had originally planned to complete at her leisure until she was interrupted by the pressing incident that had stolen the day. When confronted with Irissa's question of what had occupied so much of Tevos' time and effort, the councilor replied gravely and ambiguously, "We are becoming... pulled into the events currently gripping Omega."

_"Really?"_ Irissa's voice originated from her omni-tool. She sounded a tad anxious. _"I don't suppose our 'friend' is involved?"_

"Oh no, not at all," Tevos facetiously hummed while setting down a datapad to lift another.

_"I thought as much. Well, what do we have? What gets us officially tangled up with her sort, hmm?"_

"I'll can only tell you a little more than what we will be telling everyone else. Spectre Neora is thought to have died on Omega, based on the testimony of Spectre Lerath coupled by the complete loss of contact with her. At whose hands is undetermined, and—"

_"—and Aria T'Loak is our prime suspect,"_ Irissa sighed as she finished the statement for Tevos. _"I wouldn't be surprised if she's culpable. Neora probably stood in her path a moment too long and the brute strangled the poor girl. I should know; I haven't forgotten Thessia and neither have all the other victims of the unnecessary violence she inflicted that day. People like Aria T'Loak think they can just run everyone over without any resistance or repercussions. It's about time she suffered for her merciless bullying. I don't mean to have her removed from Omega's leadership, as you've already stressed the importance of keeping her, but if she's done something as awful as this I don't think I'd ever be able to forgive her. Poor Neora! You were very fond of her, weren't you?"_

"I was," Tevos quietly replied, pausing from her work to reflect on the situation. She had suppressed the majority of her personal reaction to news out of necessity, acknowledging the great need to approach the matter with a clear mind free of jaundice or even vengeance in order to deal proper justice to both Neora and her possible murderer. But now that she was left to her resurfacing grievances, Tevos found herself steadily growing crestfallen. She privately mourned her agent. "I was very fond of her, yes," she said again. "Neora was an excellent Spectre, and even when the missions we assigned her failed, I confess that I could never bring myself to be disappointed in her. She brought such endless... _hope_ with her. She would react marvelously to misfortune; laughing at obstacles and always vowing to find a way to overcome them. She loved her people and her job and she served them well. For a fate so hideous to befall her disturbs and saddens me, Irissa."

_"How will this be handled? Is there an ongoing investigation?"_

"Yes, technically," Tevos said, her attention beginning to drift away from her speech and to a high-priority message highlighted in her terminal's inbox. She accessed it and began to read its contents as Irissa spoke again.

_"Technically?"_

The councilor failed to respond. A single hand was held up, a few fingers pressed her lips as her green eyes glided over the lines of text composing the message she read. Emptiness was gathering in her stomach; a reflexive reaction to more unfortunate news.

_"Tevos? What do you mean by 'technically'?"_

"Hold on a moment," she said to Irissa. She was busy comprehending the contents of the message sent by the batarian ambassador. Apparently, his trip to Khar'shan had for the most part gone without incident, but his meeting with the Hegemony leaders had not went as smoothly as anticipated. When presented with the evidence of criminal activity on Camala, one of the four advisers to the ruling sovereign of the Hegemony objected to the Council's—_Aria's_—findings by exclaiming that batarian space was being actively spied upon, and their potential colonies surveyed without their notice. Fortunately, agreements between the Batarian Hegemony and the Citadel Council permitted patrols to fare near and within batarian territory so long as they adhered to local law. That included subjection to laws revolving around claimed but unsettled worlds in their territories which explicitly forbade anyone to land upon places like Camala in order to preserve natural resources for the time of colonization, when economic growth would largely become dependent on said natural exotic riches until new cities and sources of production bloomed. Violation of these laws was often punishable by enslavement or death, especially when the offender was not reputable or of another species whose foreign affairs officials might request a pardon or offer the Hegemony compensation. And so because the evidence had been gathered without landing upon Camala, the adviser's accusation, though emotionally provocative, was without weight as their laws interpreted it.

Another advisor had expressed an completely unconvinced reaction to the evidence. He declared it highly suspicious and likely being fabricated to give the Council an excuse to post military and gather data on their planets for strategic advantages, taking into account the already-shaky and sometimes hostile relationship between the Hegemony and the other Council races. And then yet another, albeit more reasonable advisor brought up the more productive suggestion of sending batarian forces alone to investigate the relayed coordinates, independent of all further Council intervention, for at the end of all things considered, _someone_ was trespassing on their worlds.

Throughout the brief deliberation, the sovereign of the Hegemony had said nothing while his advisers bickered amongst themselves, unable to agree upon a solution. A visible divide quickly grew between caution and denouncement of the Council's invasive actions, and the quarreling only ceased when the sovereign silenced them, and told the ambassador to inform the Council that the Hegemony would respond to the situation in their own way and in their own time—both of which would not be decided and rationed at the present moment.

The ambassador was sent back to the batarian embassy on the Citadel after that, and while he was making his trip, he relayed an official transcript of the discussion accompanied by a heavily-encrypted message containing his personal reactions, fears, and any other notable points he believed Tevos ought to be made aware of. The list contained suspicions about whether the Hegemony even _intended_ on deploying forces onto Camala, and if they did, how they would go about extracting the criminals and subsequently address the Council once the job was done. Tevos was quite pleased with the ambassador despite the outcome of his trip; the man was most definitely under the constant searchlight watch of his home government, and yet he still proved his dedication to the relationship between the Citadel and the Hegemony by sending her his opinions that would've normally been stifled by censorship or indictments of sedition if intercepted by Khar'shan officials.

The asari councilor reclined in her seat, a pair of thoughtful fingers still lightly pressed to her bottom lip. Judging by the look of things, the Hegemony would not be allowing Council-ordered forces to confront and apprehend the drug producers and smugglers. The situation, by law, was no longer in her hands, and the best the Council could do from this point on would be to focus their efforts on a domestic level by maintaining the increased monitoring on the traffic passing through the many relays of the Serpent Nebula, and to continue the search for the dealers on the Citadel itself. Asari space would also have to remain exercising similar measures until further notice.

_"Your 'moment' has expired, Tevos. Illuminate me, if you would be so kind."_

She returned her attention to Irissa. "Forgive my silence; I have... received a message from the batarian ambassador. I shouldn't speak of it too much—forgive me for that as well."

_"I see. I understand, I won't ask about it. Now, where were we? You said something about Neora's disappearance being 'technically' investigated?"_

"We've run into a few obstacles," said Tevos. "Since it is thought that Neora died on Omega, we cannot conduct any sort of investigation without Aria's approval. Which she hasn't given yet." She folded her hands onto her desk, thinking to herself, _It seems that everyone is barring themselves from the Council today. _"Rather," Tevos began again, "earlier today she stated that Omega has closed its gates to Spectres entirely."

_"Well I suppose that might impede things a bit... How will you convince her to reconsider?"_

"As always, I plan to appeal to her business-inclined natures," the councilor replied, this time finding a faint smile upon her lips as she spoke. "I will broker a deal with her. My current strategy includes offering packages of intelligence relevant to her struggles on Omega in exchange for the allowance of a formal investigation. This is not just because I have received news of my Spectre's demise, no, it goes far beyond that. If Aria's enemy has begun specifically targeting Spectres, they have made themselves a threat to the Council. We will not allow our agents and resources to be used against us or our allies, and so it has become imperative that we involve ourselves in the same battle Aria is currently fighting. The current issue, it appears, is acquiring Aria's permission to accompany her in that endeavor."

_"Just keep us out of war, please,"_ Irissa said. _"I know that Aria T'Loak is just fighting some faction on Omega, but I think sending her any reinforcements won't sit well with the Council races. No one wants to waste their time on Omega. All they want is to enjoy this nice era of cease-fire you've given us, and nothing more in the way of relations."_

"Of course," Tevos agreed with her. "Her own men and women are going to have to carry the weight of their battles alone. As much as I'd prefer it that Aria defended her rule, I don't think I would ever consider giving her any of our blood. This isn't a war the people of Council space want a part of—this is a war of Omega's syndicates."

_"And Aria's friends in high places. You included. I respect your decision to get involved in this, and I wish you the very best, but I'm still compelled to ask you: are you sure this is the right course of action? This isn't even one of my attacks on Aria herself, more so... a question of whether or not we have any right to intervene... Oh, never mind it. It's an instinctual feeling and any instinct I have can't fight the fact that Aria T'Loak has maintained a fairly decent record of correspondence with the Citadel over the past decades. You're right in doing this, Tevos."_

"If you don't mind, I'd still like to hear the doubt you had. It may help me in some manner by presenting to me something I haven't considered."

Irissa made a small sigh, gathering her thoughts._ "Well, I was just entertaining a concept regarding the succession of regimes on Omega. It's always engulfed in internal wars, this constant clambering and clawing for wealth, territory, power... And the strongest, smartest, nastiest warlord claims de facto leadership. Isn't our intervention—we, as a foreign, outside entity with our own set of interests—principally upsetting the natural dynamic of things?_"

"Aria made the same point," Tevos remarked. "Not in the same words, but in the same spirit and to the same point. She does not openly want any help, and I think it may be because of this. I think that her pride is threatened by the prospect of receiving too much support from allies. It invalidates her, makes her appear as a faulty warlord who was unable to hold her ground on her own. She makes signs hinting that she is prepared to exploit all means necessary to win, but then she suffers an abrupt caprice and changes her mind as if conflicted between two different sides of 'power'; strength through force, and strategic cunning. Both, I believe, are essential in her case. It is her _pride_, as I've said, that creates the unnecessary rift. She hides the conflict well, but she needs to reconcile those feuding sides."

_"Your level of perception leads me to say that you spend far too much time speaking with her," _Irissa said with the slightest tinge of humor. _"From my vantage point, in all honesty, the woman terrifies me. She's a violent sociopath, a goddess-damned specimen of death incarnate without any knowledge of feeling, remorse, or an ounce of kindness. And you have reduced the iconic existence she's carefully forged over centuries into something potentially very disturbing to her: a person. A horrible person, but a person."_

Tevos briefly smiled again. "A person whose help we're going to be needing soon. And vice versa." As the final portion of her statement left her mouth, Tevos returned her eyes to her terminal where another message appeared in her inbox along with a small blinking light to announce its unread status. She accessed it and read the contents sent by a certain correspondent with whom she would soon be meeting and collaborating with, as confirmed with the brief note enclosed in the message. "And," she said to Irissa, "a person who's going to be coming to the Citadel in two days' time."

_"...Seriously?" _She sounded weary.

The councilor paused, rereading the message over while thinking to herself how strange and nearly surreal it was, to be informed that a controversial ghost from her past was going to appear before her again as flesh rather than a disembodied voice, a string of text, or an envoy of light projected from a communication console. But it wasn't so much of a matter of object permanence as it was an matter of the much more valuable empirical experience. "Yes," Tevos replied at length. "So you can safely anticipate the presence of additional C-Sec officers in the Embassies on that day. Forgive me yet again, Irissa, but I should give my full attention to my work now. I'll talk to you later."

_"Not a problem, Tevos. I'll leave you to fix the arrangements for our... guest..."_

With the call ended, Tevos read over Aria's message a third time, vastly pleased with her ability to put aside her pride for the sake of rationality. Aria was adaptable, reasonable, and by no means had she lost any legitimacy for recognizing a time when she needed to cooperate with the Council. Rather, it only reinforced her competency and her qualification as a capable leader.

_Well done_, the councilor thought. _Not only are you conventionally strong, but you are also wise. And... I must confess that although I'm quite apprehensive about working with you again, I can't deny that our previous 'projects' were some of the most engaging moments of my career._


End file.
